The Face in the Shadows
by Denisea
Summary: Immediately after "Prophecy's Child." As Brenna, Luke, & Rupert deal with the aftermath of battling Etan Lippa, Rupert responds to a "lifeboat" distress call to find a single barely alive occupant who turns out to be Brenna's younger half-brother, but Brenna's mother is supposed to be "dead." Meanwhile, the only way to avert Yoda's still unresolved prophecy seems to be abortion...
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer:_

_I do not own any part of the Star Wars franchise or any of its characters. I have not been paid for any of the stories posted on FanFiction or elsewhere. What you read here are simply the products of my own imagination based on the universe created by George Lucas ._

.

_Author's Note:_

_This is the third story in my series after "Skywalker's Legacy" (posted by me as "Nadahnefu" - please skip the confusing "Prologue") and then "Prophecy's Child." As promised earlier, you will learn what happened to Brenna's mother in this story._

There is also the "prequel" to my little series, published in FFN by me under the pen name "DeniseH" (ran out of available document space under "Denisea") and entitled "The Legion Renewed." So if you want to read that backstory, look for it under author "DeniseaH". And if you simply must have more after you read this story, then read "The Justice of Clan Tahl."

_If you enjoy it, please take a minute to post a review. Thanks._

**.**

**The Face in the Shadows**

by Denisea

Prologue

Luke stood in the doorway to Brenna's cabin and looked at her for a moment before going to her bedside, holding his damaged mechanical right hand with his good left hand. She was alive, at least, but he couldn't sense her presence. Her life-essence was someplace else, someplace where he couldn't find her.

She was either unconscious or asleep, but her nerveless hand had somehow moved to cover her stomach, and there were lines of tension on her forehead. "It's not over yet," he had heard her say to Rupert, back on Croyus Four.

"It _is_ over," Luke whispered reassuringly, and kissed her on the forehead. He let go of his bionic hand to gently smooth the lines on her face with his good one, and the mechanical hand immediately started twitching again. The vibration and the hum that came from the tiny power pack under the synthe-skin were beginning to set his teeth on edge, but he continued stroking her face for another moment before grabbing his hand to stop the twitching.

Suddenly, there was a strong arm around him, and Rupert was coaxing him back towards the couch in the _Falcon's_ passenger lounge.

"She'll be fine," Rupert assured him. "You need to rest, too. I'll wake you when we're ready to land."

Luke nodded. But in the back of his mind, there was a tiny little voice saying that it wasn't really over at all...

.

**The Face in the Shadows**

Chapter One

.

Rupert took Luke and Brenna to Medea. It was the closest facility with medical services, albeit limited ones. At first, the med-techs did not want to take Brenna. They only knew her as "the Butcher of Croyus Four." But then Rupert had them make contact with their Blue, who contacted _his_ superior, who turned out to be Devon Martuk with a few cosmetic changes made to his face. Martuk ordered that Brenna and her companions were to be given the best of everything the Afterlife had to offer, and after that, the med-techs were somewhat more cooperative.

Luke's recovery was relatively quick, but he was not carrying the emotional weights that Brenna was, nor the physical burden of Brenna's unborn child. Mostly, he just needed some rest. His prosthetic was beyond Medea's ability to repair, but Martuk made arrangements for a Too-One-Bee 'droid and replacement parts for the prosthetic to be brought to Medea as soon as it was practically possible, rather than sending Luke off-world for treatment—they had intended to get a Too-One-Bee anyway, Martuk said. To Rupert, the point seemed wasted, since the people on Medea would probably soon return to their homeworlds, but he didn't feel it was his place to argue. In the meantime, Luke's doctor deactivated the circuitry to stop the twitching, and Luke wore his useless right hand in a sling.

Brenna's recovery, on the other hand, was both easier and more difficult than Luke's—easier because she hadn't sustained the physical damage that Luke had, more difficult because the psychological damage went much deeper.

As for himself, all Rupert needed was a little time to rest and to meditate, and he was back to normal. Talking to his family helped, too. Although families of the Croyus Four survivors had already been notified about the status of their loved ones via short, impersonal, text-based messages, Rupert asked for, and was immediately granted, permission to use Medea's communications array to make personal contact with his parents and let them know he was all right. Rupert knew that there was a long queue of users, and he was grateful for his status by way of his association with Brenna and thereby Devon Martuk for not having to wait his turn.

Having long ago lost track of the sun-cycles of his homeworld, Rupert managed to make his call in the middle of the night. However, that proved to be no bad thing, as both of his parents were home and didn't mind being wakened for something like this. Even Lucy seemed not to mind. The only one to mind was Poul, who, since he had been told as soon as the list of survivors from Medea was released that his brother wasn't dead after all, didn't see much point in getting up in the middle of the night. He only got up because his mother had forced him to, said, "Hi, Rupert. 'Bye, Rupert." and stumbled back to bed.

Rupert explained to his parents that his "death" had been a necessary ruse to make Etan Lippa think that Brenna was on his side. Unfortunately, fooling Etan Lippa also meant fooling his family and Luke. Han was too happy to see Rupert to be very angry about having been kept in the dark. Rupert promised to relay Han's message that he might _someday_ forgive Luke for not keeping tighter tabs on Rupert, and might someday also forgive Brenna for not immediately notifying them of Rupert's non-death—which meant, of course, that Han already had forgiven both Luke and Brenna.

Leia, for her part, after eliciting Rupert's promise to come home as soon as he was able, even if it was only for a short visit, inquired after Luke and Brenna. Rupert gave them the official version and added the few unofficial details to which he was privvy, and then signed off. Although he had already been told that Devon Martuk had ordered that he could have as much time on the system as he wanted, Rupert didn't want to hold up the people waiting behind him for too long.

Then, after dealing with his parents, there was only Brenna to worry about, and Rupert spent most of his waking hours hovering around the waiting room hoping for the chance to speak with Brenna or one of her physicians.

As soon as Luke was released, Luke also tried to see Brenna, and was surprised to be turned away. When he asked why, he was simply told, "Orders." When he asked _whose_ orders, he was told "Number One's orders." When he tried to point out that _Brenna_ was Number One, he was only met with disbelief. When he insisted on talking with the attendant's superior, Devon Martuk himself came to meet him.

"I want to see my daughter," Luke said to the younger man.

"I'm sure you do," Martuk replied soothingly. "And as soon as she's ready to receive you, I'll take you to her myself."

"She's my _daughter_," Luke insisted.

"And she is _my_ friend," Martuk returned. "Therefore I must insist that you obey her wishes, and the advice of her physician, and _stay away_ until she's ready to see you."

Luke was stunned as he processed what he had just heard. "Brenna doesn't want to see me?"

"No. And under the circumstances, I don't think it would be wise to upset her. Now, I can let you talk with her doctor—in fact, I'm sure he will insist upon it—but that is as much as I can do. Oh, and there's one more thing: Brenna has asked that your familial relationship with her be kept under wraps. She doesn't want it known that you're her father."

That also hit Luke from out of the blue. "Why not?"

"I've no idea. In any case, she's also asked me not to mention her role in Croyus Four to the media."

"I don't understand."

"Neither do I. As far as I'm concerned, she deserves _all_ the credit. Maybe you can change her mind when she's feeling better. In the meantime, I'll hold the press off for as long as I can. I trust I can count on you to abide by Brenna's wishes?"

Luke nodded reluctantly. "If that's what she wants…"

Martuk held an arm out to usher Luke down the hallway. "Shall we go see Dr. Tibbik?"

Dr. Tibbik turned out to be an Andulusian with a specialty in human psychology. He wouldn't tell Luke much beyond the fact that Brenna was diagnosed as suffering from "extreme physical and mental exhaustion, complicated by pregnancy," but he did ask Luke a lot of questions about what had happened on Croyus Four. Luke answered the questions as best he could, explaining that much of what he knew about Brenna's experiences with Etan Lippa was pure inference and conjecture.

Tibbik also wanted to know about Brenna's Force-sensitivity, saying only that he thought it might be important. Luke was surprised that Tibbik seemed to comprehend most of what he was trying to explain about the Force, then realized that Rupert had probably already talked with him. A quick question confirmed that guess, and another quick question confirmed that Rupert was also not permitted to see Brenna.

When Tibbik ran out of questions and Luke ran out of answers, Luke went to the suite Martuk had provided for him and waited. By then, Rupert had given up the pointless hanging out in the waiting room, and kept him company.

As the days slipped by, the news media became more anxious. They had heard that the Medeans had somehow launched a successful military strike against Croyus Four, and that Brenna Brellis, the 'Butcher of Croyus Four' had been 'captured.' Off-world networks were pouring in, trying to outdo each other with exclusives on 'the Butcher of Croyus Four.' One reporter was caught trying to break through hospital security to get to Brenna. The end result, of course, was that Martuk had hospital security beefed up, and the reporter was put in a security cell for a couple of days until he could be shipped offworld.

Martuk appeased the media a little by outlining the operations at Croyus Four. He stated that there were four principals: himself, Trevis Finn, who turned out to be another Academy recruit Blue that Luke had met the first time he'd been here, an engineering student named Jaff Wissain, and "one other who preferred to remain unnamed." Martuk was the primary spokesman for the group, although the other two men gave brief statements in which they were careful to refrain from any specifics. Martuk's speeches distributed the credit equally among the four, effectively minimizing Brenna's role and inflating the others'. From Martuk's words, the unnamed leader's role seemed to be only that of a financial wizard who was able to doctor Etan Lippa's accounts enough to fund the operation. The media seemed happy with the information they received, and immediately dubbed Martuk, Finn, Wissain, and the mysterious Number One as the "Croyus Four Four."

Brenna must have been satisfied with the media accounts, because it was the day after Martuk's press conference that she finally contacted Luke.

It wasn't in person, however—just a vid-call. No, she didn't want Luke to come to the med-center, she just wanted to ask if he would mind retrieving Rupert's memory from Croyus Four. She gave him a string of nonsense syllables she had used as a key to lock and unlock the memories, a group of sounds with which Rupert was hardly likely to come into contact by accident, and which Etan Lippa could have gotten only by scanning her. By the time he had done that, of course, Rupert's memories were a moot point. The nonsense words would trigger the mental block for release.

Luke replied that he would make the offer, but suggested that Brenna might want to do it herself.

Brenna shook her head. "I'm not a telepath. I had to use drugs to help erase his memory in the first place."

"Oh," Luke said, slightly confused. He remembered a time back on Tatooine when Brenna had tried to touch him telepathically. The contact had been very strong, and Brenna had been untrained. He had trained a few dominant telepaths, and thought them remarkable for less ability than Brenna had shown on that day.

In response to Luke's questions, Brenna went on to say that she was feeling better, but with the pregnancy scheduled to be terminated in a couple of days, thought it would be better to conserve her strength, as her doctor suggested. At the moment, she found visitors—_any_ visitors, including Luke and Rupert—to be something of a drain, and hoped Luke would be patient with her for just a bit longer.

Luke, in turn, expressed his concern for her, and hoped it wouldn't be much longer before he could see her in person and verify for himself that she was recovering. He promised he wouldn't stay long, just long enough to set his mind at rest that she was all right.

Soon, Brenna promised. Just a few more days. She was about to switch off the com-link, but Luke said, "Wait—"

She stopped and looked at him expectantly. He searched for something to say, to hold her there a little longer.

"You'll...call me if you need anything, won't you?"

"Yes, sir. Of course I will."

"Or if you want anything? Even if it's just to talk..."

"Yes, certainly. Good night, Father."

Luke nodded once, and she switched off the com-link. He wished she would stop calling him "sir" and "father."

And there was a nagging feeling that he was missing something important.

Originally meant for miners and as temporary housing only, the living quarters on Medea were more like dormatory rooms. Some of the better rooms did, however, afford a certain amount of privacy. Luke's "suite" was hardly more than an efficiency apartment, but he recognized it as a rare luxury here. It had a small living area, and even a small kitchenette. He wondered who had been ousted to make room for him here, and suspected that it might have been Devon Martuk himself. Luke cared very little about his apparent status. He would just as soon take a regular room like he'd had during his first stay. Better yet, he would have preferred no room at all, just a cot or even a chair beside Brenna's hospital bed, but that was hardly likely to happen.

The doors to the rooms were of the old-fashioned type. They didn't open by voice command—didn't even, in fact, have buzzers. The only way to get the attention of someone inside was to knock.

However, Luke, didn't need the knock to tell him who was coming to see him. He opened the door—with his good hand, not the one in the sling—even as Rupert's fist was pulling back to make the first rap. "Yes, Rupert. Come in."

Rupert had learned by now not to be taken aback by Luke's 'premonitions,' although he was beginning to be able himself to sense Luke's presence. "I'm worried," Rupert confessed. He didn't need to say about whom. "She finally contacted me over the vid-com, to tell me that you would retrieve my memory if I wanted, but she still won't let me in to see her. She's not eating very much, either. One of her nurses told me."

Luke looked at him, eyebrows raised. Given the lack of information _he'd_ been able to gain from the medical personnel, it surprised him that Rupert was able to get _anything_.

Rupert gave him an apologetic shrug. "My dad _did_ teach me a few things you left out of your training, you know."

For a moment, the older Jedi wondered if the same technique would work for _him_. Then he dismissed the notion. He'd never been much good at flirting, certainly not the master that Han was, and Rupert was much younger and better looking. "So what else did the nurse tell you?"

The apologetic expression disappeared to be replaced again by worry. "That the only food Brenna can tolerate are guaco beans and supplement tablets."

"That's odd," Luke murmured. "She _hates_ guaco beans...What about triest? That's something she's always liked, and it's easy on the stomach."

"They tried it. It makes her sick."

"I...see," Luke said, although he wasn't certain that he did see at all. There was a long silence, then Luke said, "So have you decided about your memory?"

Rupert dropped into one of Luke's chairs tiredly. "I told Bren it wasn't necessary. I trust her reasons for wiping it. That's all that matters."

"There may be a different sort of trust issue involved," Luke pointed out.

"How do you mean?"

"By not having it done, you might be saying that you trust her reasons for wiping your memory, but you might also be saying that you don't trust the memories themselves. There's a greater risk in retrieving the memory than leaving it blocked."

The notion was a surprise to Rupert, but not a big concern. "Then do it," he said.

"You do understand the risks involved, don't you? If Brenna isn't dealing straight, then this memory retrieval could kill you. I can't re-erase retrieved memories."

Rupert looked at him with an expression that said he thought Luke was out of his mind for even suggesting that idea. "Do it," he repeated.

"Now?"

"Yes, now."

"All right." Luke pulled a chair opposite Rupert and sat down. "Just...close your eyes. Relax. Clear your thoughts..."

Luke turned his attention to his own body, and released the tension in his muscles. He was a little apprehensive, and tried to release his uneasiness as he let out a breath. The apprehension wasn't due to mistrust, however, but to the intimacy of the contact. He hadn't been this intimate with anyone in years. The last time he had done something like this, Brenna had been a young child.

He reached out and touched Rupert mentally.

_Hello._ Rupert's unvoiced greeting caused him to smile.

_Hello, yourself, _Luke answered.

_What do you want me to do?_

_I have to go deeper. Try not to fight it. Think about Croyus Four, about Brenna..._

Luke received a kaleidoscope of images of Brenna, sitting across a table in a Tatooine bar and smiling, lying helpless at the bottom of a krail pit, looking up at him with parted lips, rising naked out of a Dagoban lake...

_Sorry_, Rupert apologized.

Luke tried to dismiss the fact that Brenna was his daughter, knowing that there were some images of Brenna's mother that he wouldn't want Rupert to see, and immediately the unbidden memories came to mind. He started to fight the images, then realized that he couldn't do that, and still preserve the link. Instead, he let them wash over him freely, until they were gone.

_I guess we're even_, Luke replied. _Now would you mind focusing on Croyus Four?_

There was a moment of confusion, mixed images and feelings, and then...the image of Croyus Four from a distance.

_Yes..._ Luke replied, moving a level deeper into the link.

A forced landing. A walk through the prison bays. Being strapped into the chair. Brenna and Lippa. Brenna cold, distant. Brenna checking the straps. Brenna's eyes like ice. His fear. Brenna speaking: _He's mine!_ Lippa leaving. Brenna speaking again: _I want you to scream..._ The rest was fuzzy.

_Again,_ Luke said.

Rupert took a breath, and ran through the images again.

The landing. The walk through the prison bays. The chair. Brenna and Lippa. Brenna speaking: _He's mine!_ Lippa leaving. Brenna speaking again, whispering into his ear: _I want you to scream._ And...and...

Luke probed deeper, whispering the nonsense syllables Brenna had given him into Rupert's thoughts.

And...screaming. But not from pain. Screaming to fool Etan Lippa. Brenna concentrating, adding images to the sound of his cries like a painter working on a canvas, creating waves in the Force like a picture of a stormy ocean, but only a picture. Not real. Dark as midnight, but only because...those were the colors she was using to paint with. And…her words.

_Really, Rupert, can't you scream any better than that? He'll never believe it. For Deities sake, try to sound like you're in pain... _

Everything came in a rush, then. Everything that had been locked away, crammed into a tiny closet, but the locked door was now open, and it all came tumbling down in a jumble. It was all familiar, like toys from childhood. The pretend-torture. The bio-trance afterward to simulate death, and Brenna casting a shield over him to complete the illusion. Brenna calling to him later to wake him up once she was sure Etan Lippa was asleep. Deities, she looked so tired.

_I've come to take you away from here_, Rupert told her.

_I can't leave yet,_ Brenna answered. _There's another group of prisoners due in soon, and I can't abandon them. Don't worry. He can't penetrate my thoughts. Not any further than I want him to, anyway. I can't explain it, but I can keep him out. _

_What about me? If he can read minds, won't he know I'm still alive? He can still read _my_ mind..._

_No. I can…put a block around you, too. It's harder, but I've done it. I've been doing it since I started 'torturing' you. But I can't keep it up forever. I'm not even sure I could keep it up over the night. That's why I've made arrangements for you to be well away from here before he wakes up. _

_I won't leave you here alone!_

You don't have a choice. Etan's stronger than both of us together. You need to go back and finish your training. Once you're a Jedi Knight, maybe you and my father can—

There is no more training. Your father says he's taught me as much as he can. He says if he takes me any further, I would probably go feral, insane, whatever you want to call it.

Oh? From what I read, that's only a temporary condition.

What did you read?

A diary Etan thought was unimportant enough to let me read. He didn't know about you when he let me read it, of course.

Whose diary?

Some woman who crash-landed on a wilderness planet with a creature-empath. She wasn't a Force-sensitive, but she helped the guy get back to normal after he flipped out.

Luke didn't say anything about it being temporary. He just said it would probably happen.

Yeah, well, according to the diary, the flipping-out part was pretty scary. But whether you go all the way or not, it still won't be safe for either of us if Etan learns you're still alive. Unless...

_Unless?_

_Unless you let me wipe your memory. A mind-wipe would maintain the secrecy I need, without my having to block you. I can make up something, an excuse for your being alive. But it won't hold up if he probes you. Unless I wipe you. _

_Wipe me, and then what? I'll just return here as soon as I can._

_Hmmm. Good point. I think my father can help with that. But if you show up alive and well at his doorstep, Etan Lippa will find out. He has spies on Coruscant._

_How, then?_

_We'll just have to wait until he gets here._

_Your father's coming here?_

_If you're here, he can't be far behind, especially if he thinks I've killed you. But _he_, at least, will have enough sense to wait until Etan's away before trying anything. _

_I can't leave you here. I don't think your father will, either. _

_Like I said, you don't have a choice. Don't worry. I can handle Etan._

_How?_

_By giving him what he wants._

_He wants _you_._

_I can put him off for a while longer yet. _

_But not indefinitely?_

She hesitated before admitting, _No, not indefinitely._

_That's why I can't leave you here. And if you wipe my memory, I can't even promise you'll be safe from _me_. Not if I think you're the 'Butcher of Croyus Four.'_

_Look, can we just stop arguing? We don't have much time, and I don't want to spend it like this._

_How do you want to spend it, then?_

She smiled a little tentatively, _I'd like to pick up where we left off back on Tatooine. I mean_—She stopped as a sudden thought struck her. _Unless, that is, you know..._

Rupert shook his head. He didn't know. Didn't have a clue what she was talking about, as a matter of fact.

She smoothed her hair nervously. _I don't want to get in the way if you've, you know, found somebody else, or...whatever. But like I said, I can't put Etan off forever, and I don't want him to be the first. I'd rather…you were._

Rupert grinned, finally getting it. _No. Nobody else. But promise that once it's safe, you'll give me back my memory. This is one I'd hate to lose._

_I promise. _

He stepped closer to her then, took her face between his hands and kissed her the way she had taught him back on Tatooine, then shifted and pulled her close in a way that nobody had taught him but that he instinctively felt was right.

Luke felt the intensity of Rupert's emotions surge as the kiss was re-lived through the mind-link. Luke tried to distance himself from it, while holding onto the contact. There was still more that needed to be uncovered before he left Rupert alone with memories that deserved to remain private.

In the re-lived memory, an idea found its way into Rupert's mind. It was part of what Luke had sensed, but now it was solidifying.

Rupert broke the memory-kiss off and looked at her. _Brenna...how far do you want to take this?_

_Don't worry, Rupert. I'm not looking for a long-term contract. No obligations, no commitments, I won't even ask you to stay the night. Hell, you won't even remember it in the morning._

She wasn't looking for a commitment, then. She didn't know. And he…Rupert...couldn't tell her. If he did, he doubted she would go through with it. But there was one thing he could tell her, at least. And it might just help to protect her. From himself, of all people.

_If you...wipe my mind, I can't guarantee that I'll know you're not on the Dark Side. _

_Well, that's the idea. _

_What I mean is, without knowing which side you're really on, I can't guarantee my future actions. When I came, I didn't know whether I'd try to rescue you or kill you. Now I know what you're doing, but…I don't know what sort of effect the mind-wipe will have on me. And I don't want to hurt you…_

She smiled. _You have such charming pillow-talk. That's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me._

He tried to ignore her levity. _I know how to—That is, if we_—_I don't know if it will work after tonight if you mind-wipe me. But it might_—

_What are you trying to say, Rupert? _She was losing patience.

He blurted it out without any further preamble. _A Creature-Empath can't hurt his mate. Or at least, not unless he goes insane. Or feral. Whatever you want to call it._

_Oh, _she said, in surprise. Then she realized what he meant, and said again._ Oh!_

_Except if I can't remember, I can't guarantee that it will hold._

Brenna put her fingertips to his mouth._ Don't worry. If there's occasion, I'll make sure it holds. And at the same time, if I can, I'll give you a memory to replace the one I take away…_

Rupert broke off the mind-link abruptly. Luke didn't fight it. There was still some sorting to be done, but...Rupert could do that on his own later.

It took even Luke a minute to find his voice. "Are you all right?" Luke asked.

Rupert nodded, drawing in a shaky breath. He let it out again, then looked at Luke. "That time on Dagobah by the lake wasn't the first time for us. No wonder I was so drawn to her."

"You were already mated to her."

"Even though I didn't remember it."

Luke rubbed his forehead. "Well, that solves the mystery of how Brenna knew about Creature-Empaths being unable to hurt their mates. You told her."

"Yes, but..." he searched the jumble of new-old memories for a moment, looking for something and finding it wasn't there. "I didn't tell her the rest. She only knows that a Creature-Empath can't hurt his mate. I didn't tell her _why_."

"I know. And for that…I'm grateful. You did it to protect her."

"So what do I do now? Do I tell her?"

"No," Luke said firmly. "'No obligations, no commitments' is what she said. She never said she loved you. You knew what you were doing when you kept it from her then. You made your decision then not to tell her. You'll have to live with the consequences of that now."

"But if she _does_ love me?"

"Then you'll find the right time to tell her."

It was Rupert whom Brenna finally agreed to see in person first. She suggested meeting him at the hospital arboretum, which had been built by Martuk Mining when the mines here had been productive, and which had been maintained by drone 'droids, or re-stocked with its current inhabitants by the Afterlife. Rupert wasn't sure which, but preferred to think the former. He hated to think that the creatures who had inhabited this tiny eco-system had just been left to die when Medea had been abandoned.

He found her sitting at the appointed bench, well before the appointed time. She was staring at the non-native trees, or maybe at the assortment of non-native birds that were living in the trees. The expression on her face was completely unreadable, a blank wall. But when Rupert cleared his throat, there was no disguising the start of surprise that came over her, despite the fact that she'd been expecting him, even if he was a little early.

She tried to cover with an inadequate smile, which seemed to exist only on her mouth, and indicated the space on the bench next to her.

She was definitely ill, Rupert thought. It wasn't just that she was dressed in a hospital robe and slippers, there was something else wrong with her. Something that couldn't be covered up by carefully applied cosmetics or disguised by the neat bun her hair had been pulled into.

She held the smile with her facial muscles only, and looked up towards the tops of the trees, towards the protective barrier of the dome and its automated sprinkler system. "It's too bad this can't exist outside the dome."

"Yes," Rupert agreed. The arboretum had been built to provide the miners with a sense of home when they needed it, but to Rupert, whose home was basically a giant city, it was a small reminder of the jungles on Dagobah. He stretched out a thought, and a bird of pure white fluttered down from the tree and landed on the edge of his right hand. He extended the first finger of his left hand and said, "Here, do this."

Brenna followed his example, and he transferred the tiny weight of the bird to her hand.

For a moment, lines on her face seemed to soften, and she ran a finger of her other hand delicately down its throat and then over the back of its head.

The bird, however, was not used to being petted, and after a moment began trembling. Seeing that, Brenna stopped stroking it and made a small flicking motion with her hand. The bird, anxious to return to its nest, took wing immediately. Rupert raised his hand to call it back, but Brenna shook her head. "No, let it go."

He watched her follow it with her eyes for a moment, and an inexplicable feeling of sadness came over him. It wasn't for Brenna, or the bird, or himself. It was just...he didn't know. Maybe it was this arboretum filled with trees and birds that weren't supposed to be here, confined within the walls like a large, comfortable prison, yet which would be unable to survive without the carefully controlled climate inside the dome.

"Take a walk?" Brenna suggested.

"Sure," Rupert said.

He stood up and offered a hand to help her up, but she smiled up at him in that incomplete way and stood on her own, and said, "Really, Rupert, I'm not an invalid." But once she was on her feet, she sensed his hesitancy to reach for her hand, and laced her fingers through his. "On the other hand, I'm not opposed to hand-holding for the sake of hand-holding."

"That's nice to know," Rupert said, in a tone that was almost relief.

She swung their arms in a gesture that seemed to him to spring from false gaiety, and gave him a wider version of the inadequate smile she had given him earlier.

Almost immediately, however, they fell into a slow, not quite shuffling, pace. Brenna seemed to be admiring the scenery, but in truth, Rupert thought that she just didn't have the energy to go faster.

At length she let go of Rupert's hand to take his arm instead, and asked, "Did my father retrieve your memory?"

"Yes. Thanks. That was, uh, one memory I'd have been sorry to miss."

She gave him the same smile as before. "You asked me to make sure it was retrieved as soon as it was safe."

"I…remember. Thanks."

They walked on a little further before she spoke again. "I have a question to ask you. Two questions, actually. The first one is whether you'd be willing to use the _Falcon_ to transport some of the refugees here back to their homes. It will take us a while to get to everyone, and the more ships we have, the sooner it'll get done. Devon's still working out the details of how to do it, but it'll help if we can count on you."

"Of course," Rupert said, feeling a pang of jealousy at her inclusion of Devon Martuk and not himself in the 'us' and 'we' of her statements. "Just let me know when and where."

"Thank you. I'll tell Devon. The other question is of a more personal nature." She glanced around, saw a bench, and motioned to it with her arm, indicating that they should sit down.

"I've been...doing some thinking," she began a little hesitantly, "...about you and me, and our relationship."

Rupert sat as still as ice, paralyzed by a dread that flash-froze him where he was like carbonite. She was going to break it off between them, to tell him that she loved Devon Martuk, and not him. It had been inevitable. Martuk was brilliant and well-educated, and Rupert was—well, he was just as much animal as human.

Disembodied, he heard his own voice croak, "And?"

"And...I was wondering...how you felt about me."

Rupert felt a tiny part of him thaw. It might be that she was doing nothing more than looking for reassurance. "I love you very much, Brenna."

She didn't look as if this answer surprised her. She merely nodded slowly, and went on in a matter-of-fact tone. "Have you ever...thought about marriage, or anything like that?"

The surprise that came over Rupert was total. "I...have," he admitted. "But I didn't want to scare you off."

"It's not scaring me off if I ask you first," she pointed out.

That realization was like a thermal bath and finished the job of thawing Rupert out. He grinned from ear to ear. "No, I guess not."

"So...do you want to?"

He laughed. "I would love to. If you're _sure_, that is. But maybe we'd better wait until you're out of here before deciding anything. Just in case you change your mind when you're feeling better."

"I won't change my mind."

"Well...okay, then. Consider yourself engaged. Sorry, I don't have a token right now."

"I don't have a token, either," Brenna said. "Except this." She leaned over to him and kissed him on the mouth."

The kiss stirred passions in Rupert, the same passions she had stirred on Dagobah, and on Croyus Four before that, and on Tatooine when they had first kissed. He returned the kiss, but kept the passions in check, kept the kiss gentle. Control over his own actions was one of the things Luke had given him, and what she herself had helped to teach him. There was time for more later, when she was back to her normal self. He broke off first, before his passions carried him too far, and then lest she think there was anything of reluctance in breaking off the kiss, grasped her hand and pressed the back of it to his lips.

"Thank you," she murmured. "Oh, there is one more thing."

"What's that?"

"After...we're married, I'd like to keep my name."

Rupert shrugged. "Sure, whatever you want. I'd like to keep mine, too. It helps me hold onto who I am. I've been Rupert Solo all my life. To suddenly become Rupert Skywalker might‑‑‑"

"—It's 'Brellis,' she interrupted.

"What?" He blinked, not understanding.

"My name. It's not 'Skywalker.' It's 'Brellis.' My parents never married."

"Oh," Rupert said, a little nonplussed. He had just assumed that she would use the same surname as her father. After all, Luke had raised her. But it mattered to him very little what last name she used. She was still Brenna. Still his mate. And it seemed that she had accepted him as hers, too. Nothing else was of any significance whatsoever. He grinned at the thought, and kissed her hand again, inhaling deeply of her scent.

Then he took her other hand in his free hand, so now he was holding both of her hands. Luke had said he would find the right time to tell her, and now seemed appropriate. "Brenna, there's something I have to tell you. Now that we're engaged, I mean. But maybe it should wait until you're better." He thought about it for a second, then nodded. "Yes, I think it should wait."

"Tell me now," Brenna said.

"It's not...important, really. It can wait. The only reason I need to tell you at all is because I don't want there to be any secrets between us."

"What is it? I would really like to know."

Perhaps it was the right time, then. Rupert raised her hands to his lips. "Brenna, I've always felt that marriage is a commitment for life."

"I wasn't planning on anything less."

"Well…that's good. Because I want you to know that I will always love you. There will never be anyone else for me."

"Nor for me," Brenna replied, but her voice sounded distant.

"You already know that a Creature-Empath can't hurt his mate. But I never told you the rest."

"Tell me now."

"Brenna…a Creature-Empath mates for life."

She didn't seem as surprised as he supposed she might be. But her voice echoed, "For life?"

Rupert squeezed her hands. "I'm going to make you a promise. If you ever send me away, I'll go. I won't argue, or plead, or anything. I'll just...go."

Brenna pulled a hand free and caressed his cheek, but it was more like a gesture of comfort than anything else. "I won't send you away, Rupert. That's _my_ promise."


	2. Chapter 2

**The Face in the Shadows**

**Chapter Two**

Brenna paced the perimeter of the open space in her hospital room. Her energy seemed to come and go, and at the moment, it had come with a vengeance. She wasn't supposed to go anywhere, not without her doctor's approval, and certainly not without an escort of some type. Even her meeting with Rupert had been orchestrated by the well-meaning-but-pain-in-the-posterior hospital staff. They had cleared the arboretum beforehand, posted a guard at each entrance, and had a nurse on stand-by. The arboretum cage might have looked slightly different, but it was still a cage. She was restless now. She needed to move. She'd been cooped up for too long. To Hell with Devon's lectures about security risks. Being confined in her hospital room was like...being confined in a prison.

She stopped walking suddenly, and turned to look at the patient in the next bed, with whom she shared the room. But her roommate was recovering from surgery, and was still unconscious. Space in the med-center was too precious to give her a private room, but as a rule, they only put the unconscious ones in the room with her. Brenna glanced at the nurse's station, then went to the patient's bedside.

"How would you like to help me out?" she asked the non-responsive patient softly. "I need to get out of here for a couple of hours, and you're just the one who can help me. And you don't even need to do anything except what you're already doing. Now, I can understand that you might object to deceiving the hospital staff, so if you don't want to, say so now."

There was, of course, no answer.

Brenna smiled. It was only a ghost of her former smile, but it was there. "No objections? Good." Brenna glanced out the door at the nurse's desk again, then quickly pulled the monitor patch off her forehead and stuck it to the other patient's forehead next to the one the patient already wore.

At the nurse's station, Brenna's monitor screen showed a slightly irregular blip, then settled into a pattern exactly like the one on two monitors over. The nurse's attention was on a notepad computer as she checked medication instructions for a new patient, and so she didn't notice.

Next to the door, Brenna waited, watching her. It was almost time for regularly scheduled meds, and if the nurse's pattern was true to form, she'd start at the other end of the hall.

After a few minutes, the nurse got up and left, followed dutifully by the 'droid that kept the medicines stored inside at optimal temperatures and conditions. Brenna trotted to the desk silently. She found a coat hanging on a peg and slipped it on over her hospital gown. She wasn't exactly stealing it, she told herself, as much as borrowing it. Since there was no such thing as hospital slippers in Medea's bare-bones facility, her own shoes would blend right in without need for disguise, and she slipped out of the ward without anyone so much as glancing at her.

Hospital security, such as it was, was designed to keep unauthorized people from entering, not the other way around, so she hoped leaving would not be difficult. She figured getting back in wouldn't be a problem, either. All she'd have to do was stand at the door and say 'Hi, I'm back.'

Indeed, it wasn't difficult to leave at all. She pretended to be busy studying a wall display as a guard checked a worker in. The worker said, "Catch you on the way out, Da-ab."

Brenna waited another minute, then passed out the door with a cheery wave and said, "See you next time, Da-ab." And she was out of the med-center.

Outside, the air was less stuffy. For a time, Brenna wandered around aimlessly, not having any clear idea of where she wanted to go or what she wanted to do. Finally, an idea struck her, and she consulted one of the maintenance 'droids for directions to the docking port. She was a stranger to Medea after all, even though everything the colony had was due mostly to her own efforts.

As Brenna passed one of the Lifers on the street, the human stopped to look at her curiously. Then, curiosity changed to recognition, and the recognition was replaced by shock and disbelief. He wore a yellow bracelet on his left wrist, a sign that he had technical skills, and a communicator on his right wrist, so that he could be called easily to wherever he was needed to perform a repair. But he used his communicator now for a different reason. He turned away from Brenna, punched in a number, and spoke softly into the microphone.

Luke got the call from Martuk only twenty minutes after Brenna had vanished from her room, which was only ten minutes after the nurse discovered her disappearance. Yes, of course they'd been monitoring her, but she'd pulled a fast one on them. Yes, they had already started searching for her. No, Devon thought it would be better to keep the search quiet for now. Given the popular belief about Brenna, there was no telling what would happen if word leaked that she was wandering around Medea without a security detachment. Yes, Luke was welcome to join the search. Yes, Devon would call Rupert and repeat the information. And yes, Devon would brief the security search team that Brenna was to be protected at all costs. And almost before the computer could finish the disconnect protocols, Luke was out the door of his apartment and heading for the med-center.

The docking port was pretty pathetic, as docking ports went. There were only a few ships, and the largest by far was the _Falcon_. There were the four Imperial shuttles she had managed to acquire, plus Devon's private ship, plus another fighter-class ship, plus the three economy-class transports she had bought used, two of which were still in need of repairs, plus a few other odd ships that were even smaller. Overhead, somewhere, orbited the _Despondent_, Etan Lippa's main prisoner transport, too fragile to survive an atmospheric landing, and barely capable of hyperspace travel.

It was hardly fleet enough to have brought all the prisoners from Croyus Four to Medea, yet it had done so in a steady, continuous stream, even without the _Falcon_ or the _Despondent_..

Returning the Lifers to their homeworlds would also be a challenge, since it wasn't just a flow between Croyus Four and Medea. The Lifers would have to be transported to a myriad of worlds across the galaxy.

With the _Falcon_ here, though, and Rupert willing to help, and the _Despondent_ semi-worthy for space-travel though not planetfall, they'd eventually get everyone back where they belonged. Brenna made a mental note to have Devon make a formal request to the New Republic to ask if they could spare some ships for a short time. Rupert could follow up with a more personal request to ask his mother for support. Hell, they might even get things moving faster than she hoped.

She also thought it would be a good idea to change the _Despondent's_ name to something more upbeat, like _Homeward Bound_, or something.

She turned away from the docking port and headed back to the main complex. She'd like to see some of the eating facilities if she could, not that she wanted to eat, but she wanted to make sure the food was at least edible for the others. All she'd seen was what they'd brought to her in the hospital, and which she'd refused, but she was savvy enough to know that Devon had probably ordered even that specially prepared for her. After that, she'd check out some of the activities. It had been important to her that there be a choice of leisure-time pursuits on Medea, but she had no first-hand knowledge of the outcome of her planning.

As it turned out, she couldn't see any of the mess halls, because they were closed while the cooks and servers were busy preparing for the next meal. So she had to content herself with finding an information kiosk and looking up some of the activities.

By now, of course, she figured the hospital staff had contacted Devon, and Devon had contacted her father, maybe Rupert, too. That didn't worry her much. Medea, such as it was, was large enough and primitive enough that it would take them some time to find her.

She might have been aware that she was being followed, and that the number of followers had now grown to five, but it was only a peripheral awareness. It was not a conscious realization.

The directory listed scores of activities, ranging from exercise and sports to crafts to job-skills. Many of the listings were designated as "full," but many others were still open.

Then one open activity in particular caught her eye, and she smiled to herself. _Why not?_ she asked herself, and set off for what had been the administrative offices for Matuk Mining's colony, now converted into a sort of Activities Center.

Most of the structures here were of the temporary plasticrete sort‑‑‑not especially pretty, but serviceable. The administrative offices, however, were architected and had a stone exterior. Originally it was meant for only the mining executives to enjoy, but now it was open as a community center for everyone on Medea.

The class was already in progress, but that didn't really matter to Brenna. She just wanted to watch, not participate. She entered the building, passed through a foyer, and took the stairs on the opposite side.

The dance "studio" was actually a room which had probably served as an office for some mining executive. The room had been equipped with a smooth horizontal bar, a large mirror, a few folding chairs against the wall by the door, and no other furniture. It was primitive, as dance studios went, but it had a certain old-fashioned charm.

Brenna had only meant to take a peek inside, but when she opened the door enough to see, the instructor, who'd been clapping her hands in time to the music and counting beats with her voice, saw Brenna. The woman smiled and stopped clapping long enough to motion her inside, but continued counting with her voice.

Brenna considered shaking her head politely and leaving, but then reconsidered. She had come to see the class, after all. So she entered and unfolded one of the chairs by the door as quietly as she could, and watched.

The students were little more than beginners, of various species, body-shapes and talents, but the instructor was patient. She corrected a foot position here, a hand or tentacle position there, and was full of praise for her students. When she demonstrated a move, it was clear that her own talents were far beyond her students' abilities, but she didn't seem to mind that her learners were rather less gifted.

Brenna watched with a longing to join them, but she _was_ uninvited, and dressed only in the hospital gown underneath the coat. The room was a little hot and stuffy with the coat on, but she couldn't take it off without revealing the hospital gown. So she just sat. And watched.

Luke insisted that Devon make the announcement. Luke pointed out the hospital staff's earlier refusal to treat Brenna as an example of the hostility Brenna was up against. In the end, Devon had to agree, not because Luke insisted, but because the logic was too strong. He'd seen for himself how the hospital staff had treated Brenna, even after he'd ordered them to take her. Most of the staff were treating Brenna only, they thought, so that she could stand trial for war-crimes. Even Tibbik, before he knew Brenna's real role in Croyus Four, had gone to Devon to explain that he couldn't make an evaluation of Brenna that would stand up in court, considering that as a survivor of Croyus Four himself, he was hardly in a position of impartiality. Devon had explained that he didn't want Tibbik to evaluate Brenna, he wanted him to _treat_ her, and described to Tibbik the real nature of her role on Croyus Four.

But Brenna had not wanted that role revealed. It was more or less understood to those in the know that the truth would come out eventually, but Devon and Dr. Tibbik were hoping that the decision for the announcement would come from Brenna herself. Devon figured it was the publicity she didn't want, and she'd ok the announcement after some of the excitement of Croyus Four had died down, and after most of the former prisoners had been transported home. Tibbik, he knew, had been trying to explore the reasons for her decision a little more deeply, but Brenna was not talking. She simply stated that she wanted her part kept quiet, and that was that.

Now, however, with Brenna unaccounted for and most of Medea not knowing that the Administrator of Croyus Four was in actuality their savior, Devon had to reconsider his resolution to let Brenna make the decision in her own good time; she might not survive that long.

He contacted the news "network" that served Medea—it was, in fact, only a single station—and told them that he had an important announcement to make. He told them to send a camera crew to his office, from which he was monitoring the security details that were out looking for Brenna. The fact that the offworld networks would pick up on the broadcast was a regrettable but inevitable outcome.

Exactly fifteen minutes after he'd made the call, the news crew was knocking at his door. Two minutes after that, he was on the air.

When the class was over, Brenna stood up and folded her chair and put it back where she had gotten it, but before she could leave, the instructor came over and held out her hand. "Welcome," she said. "I'm Dion Tallard."

"I'm...Brenna Owens." It wasn't completely a lie. It was the name she had gone by on Tatooine. She shook hands with the dance teacher.

"Have we met?" Dion Tallard asked. "You look familiar..."

Brenna kept her face a mask. "No, I'm sure we haven't."

One student looked at Brenna in puzzlement as he left. A dark shadow passed over his features, but then he shook his head as if to clear the thought from his mind. No, it couldn't be...

"Have you come to join our class?"

Brenna smiled, a tiny but genuine smile. "Oh, no. I just wanted to watch. I'm not...much of a dancer, I'm afraid."

"Oh?"

"I took lessons once, but I wasn't much good at it. My father made me stop."

The instructor shook her head. "Dancing has nothing to do with how 'good' you are. It has to do with what you feel inside. That, and maybe learning a little self-discipline and training your body to behave the way you want it to. I've got some free time. How would you like a private lesson?"

"Well, it's tempting, but—"

"Tell you what," the instructor said, not letting Brenna finish the "but" part of her statement. "Why don't you take off your coat, and I'll put some music on, and you show me what you can do."

Brenna grasped the collar of her coat. "I'm not exactly dressed for dancing."

"Well, today's your lucky day, because I just happen to have—" She opened up a bag that was sitting on the floor near the door, and took out a shapeless garment made of stretch-ix. "—an extra leotard. Fits only humanoids, of course, but one-size-fits-all, and you're humanoid. You can change just on the other side of the door there."

Brenna fingered the material hesitantly. She hadn't worn one in a long time, not since the last time she had pranced about her bedroom on Tatooine without her father knowing it.

"Oh, come on," Dion said, with a conspiratorial-like nudge. "I won't tell anyone. The building's closing down for dinner, and there won't be anybody to disturb us for at least an hour. Whaddaya say?"

Maybe it was the nudge that did it. Or maybe it was the little fantasy Brenna had always nursed in the back of her mind. She forgot about group following her, forgot about the pregnancy termination scheduled for the next day, forgot about her father, forgot about Rupert, forgot about everything except the chance to dance again.

The nudge, or the fantasy, was enough.

"Okay," Brenna said. She clutched the leotard to her chest as if it were her only possession, and let herself be guided to the changing room.

A few minutes later, Brenna emerged, this time clutching the borrowed coat with the hospital gown rolled up and safely hidden in the middle. This she laid aside, and somewhat hesitantly took a place on the floor. Dion went to the wall panel display and selected a song title. Immediately, soft music began to filter into the room.

The instructor took her place facing Brenna. "Do as I do, like a mirror."

Brenna nodded, and copied the other woman's body position.

The woman circled her arm in a slow half-arc that finished in a graceful sweep in front of her face. Brenna imitated the motion simultaneously. Dion went through a series of motions, increasing each one slightly in the level of difficulty, until she had Brenna do a follow-the-leader routine, which again Brenna completed almost flawlessly.

But she was not her usual self. She had been hospitalized for exhaustion, and she tired well before her normal limits would have been reached.

When the fatigue on Brenna's face and in her movements became too obvious to ignore, Dion stopped.

Brenna was too out of breath to speak. She figured Dion would give up on someone as out of shape as she was.

But Dion Tallard wasn't at all disappointed in Brenna's performance. In fact, she was impressed. "'Not much of a dancer'?" Dion Tallard said. "My friend, you are a ringer. Who did you study with?"

"Well—" Brenna gulped both lungs full of air. "Miss Bealis at Anchorhead. On Tatooine. Until I was ten. I don't know her first name."

"Who else?"

"That's it. Just Miss Bealis. After that, just what I saw on the vids. I used to...get my friends to rent them...and I'd replay some of the scenes...and practice the moves."

Dion looked at her, and her brows furrowed. "You're serious, aren't you?"

Brenna returned the gaze uncomprehendingly. "Well...yeah."

The other woman continued staring at her in disbelief. Then she said, "Brenna, I'd like to work with you. Privately."

Brenna looked at her as if she couldn't believe her ears, and a tentative smile began to form. "Really?"

Dion Tallard laughed aloud, out of the excitement at having a genuine talent show up out of nowhere and present itself on her doorstep. "Really. Would tomorrow morning suit you? How early could you come?"

The simple mention of the next morning brought Brenna's daydream crashing down around her. Tomorrow morning was when her pregnancy termination was scheduled. Her tentative smile disappeared abruptly as the fragile happiness she was just starting to feel evaporated.

Dion Tallard saw the change but didn't understand it. She was in the midst of a daydream herself, a daydream of polishing this rough, uncut stone into a precious jewel. She had visions of an audition before the Plith'dar Dance Troupe, with which her former teacher Dar Noorim still toured. It had been a mistake for her to leave the Plith'dar. Twenty years and two marriages later, she finally came to realize that. She longed to return, but it would never be on the stage. She was too old for that, any more. But with Brenna as her student, she could return in something like glory. It was a pleasant, fleeting dream.

"I have to go!" Brenna said unexpectedly. She ran to the coat, grabbed it, then realized she was still wearing the leotard. But she couldn't stay even long enough to change out of it. "I'll get the leotard back to you, I promise."

And she was out the door before Dion Tallard could even guess what had triggered the sudden change.

Brenna hurried from the dance studio in a state of panic. Once she rounded a couple of corners and was out of sight of the door, she stopped to catch her breath, and felt unexpected tears spill out of her eyes, tears for a dream that she could never live, not after what she'd done. She dropped the bundle of coat and hospital gown to wipe her eyes. Was this any way for the daughter of a Jedi Knight to act? First, fantasizing about a life of dancing, maybe even on a stage or vid-set, fancying that she heard the applause and approval of an imagined audience, fancying a young son or daughter backstage waiting for her and eager for a warm hug, even fancying her father changing vid channels on his monitor and seeing her, and the surprise and then the pride at the skill she would show. Now, crying like young, stupid child because it was just a stupid, useless dream.

It was disgusting.

_She_ was disgusting. And she was disgusted with herself for being so pathetic.

What would her father think, if he saw her like this?

She wiped her nose on the sleeve of the leotard, ran her hands across her eyes again, and shivered. Then she picked up the coat, shook it out to find the sleeves, and shoved her arms into them.

The hospital gown, shaken loose, fell to the floor unnoticed.

She held the coat around herself tightly, sniffled once more, and then held her head high as if going to meet Etan Lippa.

She descended the stairs, crossed the lobby, and was about to pass through the doorway, when a large humanoid male stepped from behind a pillar, blocking her.

"Excuse me," Brenna said, moving to one side. But the bulk moved the same direction and blocked her again, still without saying a word.

It had not yet dawned on Brenna that the humanoid was a threat. At the moment, he was a minor annoyance, and nothing more. "Whatever," Brenna muttered, and turned to find another exit, but a dark-haired woman stepped from behind the next pillar, and blocked her way in that direction. She was carrying a piece of metal reinforcement bar. Her face was filled with anger and loathing.

Brenna hesitated as an ominous feeling, not even yet a suspicion, came over her. Then she turned around slowly, and saw that there were maybe a dozen sentients surrounding her now, human and non-human. Some were armed with various blunt objects, some with sharp objects, and some, like the large humanoid who had first blocked her, had no weapons except size and a profound hatred for what they thought she was.

It dawned on her, finally, that she might be in trouble. Unlike the cantina on Tatooine where she had first met Rupert, however, she was now not only outnumbered, but also alone, and most importantly, without the powers she'd had then. Fear now came into her eyes.

And then the fear was replaced by something else, something like apathy. She didn't care who they were, or what they wanted with her.

When the woman with the metal reinforcement bar pushed Brenna roughly, and Brenna lost her balance and fell back to the floor, she just didn't care.

Two levels above, Dion Tallard had passed through a sonic-shower, changed, and was leaving the make-shift studio for the day. The bizarre leave-taking of her visitor weighed on her. Perhaps she had pushed the young woman too far. But she hadn't forced anything on her. Brenna Owens had the art and will and body of a dancer. But there was something missing, in her spirit. Dion could help her perfect the art and train the body, but the spirit was beyond her ability to heal.

The thought of healing seemed to manifest itself into reality as Dion saw something on the floor, stopped, and picked it up. Holding it up, she saw that it was a hospital gown.

It was a bizarre find, almost as bizarre as Brenna Owens herself.

Then she heard voices, coming from the foyer below. Curious, Dion went to the railing and looked over it. Then she ran back to her studio.

.

.

.

"My friends," Devon began, looking into the three-dee vid-camera. "My friends, I need to ask you for your help. But first I must betray a confidence. The last time I spoke to you, I told you of the four leaders who gave you an Afterlife, myself included. But the name of the leader of all of us, the name of Number One I did not give. I will give it now. In doing this, I betray her trust in me by betraying her request to remain anonymous. I do this to protect her, because I believe that she may be in danger. And I ask you to help me gain her safe return."

The image transitioned to the only likeness of Brenna that had ever been displayed on the media, the image that Etan Lippa had taken and given to the media when she'd taken over as administrator of Croyus Four. Devon Martuk's voice-over accompanied the image. "You know Number One as Brenna Brellis. I knew her at the Academy as Brenna Snowe. I understand that Etan Lippa's forces destroyed the home where she grew up. What she went through to ensure the safety of everyone here, I can only guess at. But her experience at Lippa's hands has left her scarred. Doctors at our medical facility here have been treating her, but she has a long way to go."

There was a pause. Devon took a deep breath. He had done the hard part, betraying Brenna's confidence. The rest was downhill. "Brenna has left the Medical Center, without medical authorization. I don't know where she is. I am asking you to help me find her, to ensure her safety. She is not, I repeat, she is _not_ the 'Butcher of Croyus Four.' She is a victim, just as all of us are. But she has done more, and perhaps suffered more, than any of us. The whole Afterlife project was started by her. If you see her, do not harm her or-"

A second voice cut into the transmission abruptly, not right next to Devon's microphone, but nonetheless picked up by it, shouting, "Devon, we've got her! Her father and—"

And the transmission suddenly went blank as Devon Martuk signaled for it to be cut off. He'd betrayed his friend for nothing. The call had come in too fast for it to be a result of the transmission.

.

.

.

Brenna picked herself off the ground. Her oversized coat fell open to expose the leotard underneath. She quickly gathered the coat back around herself, unwilling to let the group see any more of her, or her meaningless fantasy, than it already had.

The group walked clockwise around her.

"Butcher!" one of them said. "Murderer!" another cried.

"But I'm not—" Brenna tried to protest. It was the only protest she made.

"Butcher of Croyus Four!"

"My brother died there! You killed him!"

Brenna closed her eyes. Their voices would have drowned out any additional protest she might have made if she had made any. Their taunts blended together into a loud commotion, of which she could only hear snatches.

"Murderer!"

"Etan Lippa's whore!"

"Monster!"

Someone reached into the circle and shoved her hard. Brenna lost her balance, and collided against someone on the opposite side, who pushed her back across the circle and against someone else.

This went on for a couple of minutes, with Brenna being pushed back and forth across the circle like a ball in some fast-moving game. Each time, right before she was shoved, the tormentor shouted an anathema in her ear.

Then, as the shouting continued, a hand slapped her across the face. Then a foot kicked her in the shin. A fist headed towards her stomach, but she saw it coming and turned to deflect it to her back instead. In doing that, she caught another blow meant for the back of her head on the side of her face.

Brenna went down.

She curled into a tight defensive position as her tormentors punched, jabbed, and kicked at her. Her knees were drawn up to her stomach, her ankles were crossed, and her hands clasped her wrists around her knees. This position left her head, neck, and back exposed. It was her back that suffered most, since it presented the larger target, but so far her attackers seemed unwilling to strike the blow that would paralyze her or render her unconscious or perhaps kill her.

And then one of the attackers holding a blunt weapon raised it, and brought it down across her back.

Brenna's cry of pain was drowned in the shouts of her attackers.

Rupert reached her first. He raced into the melee, and pushed his way into the center. Realizing he couldn't stop all of the attacks on Brenna simultaneously, he threw himself on top of Brenna to make a shield over her, so that the blows meant for Brenna landed on his own back instead. A few of the attackers still tried to get at her around him, but he kept shifting his position to absorb as much of the impact as he could.

Luke arrived next, with Devon Martuk and the security team right behind him. Luke blazed his own trail into the center, jabbing with his elbows and pushing. He didn't care that he had broken numerous ribs and a couple of arms. When he reached the middle, he activated his lightsaber and took a stance next to Rupert and Brenna. The look in his eyes and the energy blade slicing through a couple of the weapons discouraged any further violence. "The next person who lays a hand on her loses it!" he shouted grimly into the noise.

Devon Martuk plunged into the wake Luke had made, and the noise began to die down as recognition of Devon's face set in. By now, security personnel had followed and began to form a protective ring around Brenna, Luke, Rupert, and Devon-a circle inside the circle. Some of them had stun-guns out and pointed at the Lifers. Then more security personnel circled the small mob from the outside, so that there were now more or less three circles, with Brenna as their center.

"You are all under arrest!" Martuk exclaimed.

Rupert looked around and, seeing that fighting was over, shifted to a position beside Brenna rather than over her, ignoring the pain that his own back caused him in doing so. Those who saw his face and heard the growl that came from his throat shrank back a few steps, right into the arms of the security team. The security personnel used flextic tie-strips, which they carried mostly to effect temporary repairs to mechanical equipment until proper repairs could be made, to bind the encirclers' wrists behind them.

When all the encirclers were made prisoner, Martuk angrily ordered, "Put them with the Croyus Four Guards!" and the group was marched out of the lobby.

Rupert let out a breath, and as the anger for Brenna's attackers changed to concern for Brenna, his face softened and his throat stopped rumbling. He turned his attention back to Brenna, who was still huddled on the floor, and put his hand on the back of her head.

She shuddered, as if expecting another blow.

Rupert pulled his hand away. "Brenna, it's me, Rupert. It's all right now. You're safe."

She didn't move, didn't speak, made no acknowledgement of his presence.

Luke lowered his lightsaber. As he did, the energy weapon's hum came closer to Brenna's ears, and she flinched as if expecting that, too, to land on her. Seeing her reaction, Luke quickly switched the blade off.

Rupert raised his head. "Where the Hell are the Med-Techs?" he demanded to know. But before Luke or Devon could reply that they were already here, Rupert had bent back over Brenna and was whispering in her ear again. He looked up again when the Med-Techs began fussing over Brenna, but he wouldn't give up his place by her until one of them pointedly told him that he had to move because his presence was interfering with their scanner readings. He did move then, but just out of range of the scanner, and when the scanning was done, moved right back to where he had been before. "She's got a skull fracture and multiple contusions," one of them said aloud. "Major organs appear to be intact, but kidneys are pretty badly bruised. Fetus is still viable. Let's make sure she doesn't go into shock." Someone injected her with something from an air-hypo. Someone else covered her with a blanket.

One of the Med-Techs frowned, looked at his still active hand-held display, then started sweeping the scanner towards Rupert's back. Rupert swatted it away angrily; he wasn't the one who needed help, Brenna was.

Luke felt a pang of jealousy watching Rupert. As Brenna's father, it was his place to be with her there. But Rupert was Brenna's husband-to-be, and by rights had just as much claim to that place as he did—more, perhaps. But when the Med-Techs slid the thin sturdy litter under Brenna's curled form and lifted her, Luke took one end of the litter away from the Med-Tech, and carried her to the transport. He acknowledged the fact that there was only room for one other beside the patient and the Med-Techs inside the transport on the way to the Med-Center, so he deferred again to Rupert and followed them with Devon in the Security speeder.

He would have followed them into the examination room, but a nurse held up a palm, and he relented. One more person in there would just get in the way, and so he had to content himself with pacing back and forth worriedly outside the door with Devon, who had also been barred. Rupert they had allowed in. Of course they had, Luke realized. Rupert was the only visitor besides Devon Martuk that Brenna had agreed to see.

When the doctor finally came out, she was accosted simultaneously by Luke and Devon. Briefly, she told them that Brenna's condition was serious, but not critical. Brenna wouldn't be taking any more trips out of the hospital in the near future, but she should be up and moving, although painfully, in the next day or so. The bruising was pretty deep, and she had suffered a concussion, but there should be no permanent damage. They were monitoring her, though, and would watch for any further complications. The fetus was undamaged, but that was hardly of major concern, since Brenna had been scheduled for a pregnancy termination anyway. That procedure would have to be postponed, however, until she had recovered from the attack.

Luke breathed a sigh of relief. Then he wanted to know when he could go in and see her. He could see her now, the doctor replied, except that she was sleeping and wouldn't know he was there. Luke didn't care. He was inside the door almost before the doctor had finished speaking.

Rupert was sitting on a chair near her head, elbows on the bed, his chin resting on one fist, and his other hand lightly stroking Brenna's hair. One nurse was putting a monitor strip across Brenna's forehead, another was starting to leave. Luke caught this one by the arm, murmured something in her ear. She looked at him, then went to get a med-scanner and scanned Rupert's back. Rupert looked up in surprise, but didn't swat it away this time. The nurse looked at the read-out, left the room, presumably to show the results to a doctor. Meanwhile, the other nurse finished checking the monitor strip, and left.

The nurse who had scanned Rupert returned with a hypo-spray and said something in Rupert's ear. He looked up at her, then reached around and touched his back as if he just now realized that it was hurting. Then he shrugged, said "Okay," and the nurse pressed the hypo-spray against his arm. He went back to his earlier position on his elbows, resting his chin and stroking Brenna's hair. The nurse left the room, and the only ones there now where Brenna, Rupert, Luke, and Devon Martuk.

"How is she?" Luke asked.

Rupert took a deep breath. "They had to knock her out to straighten her. She wouldn't let go of her knees otherwise. She's bruised up pretty bad, especially on her back and extremities. She's got a good crack on the head, too, but nothing life-threatening. She'll be stiff and sore for a while, but they say she'll recover. Physically, anyway."

"How long will she be out?"

"At least six hours," Rupert replied. "Maybe more."

Luke turned to Martuk. "I want a security team to guard her around the clock. Only your best personnel."

Devon nodded full agreement. "And I think," he added, "that I should finish the speech I started."

Devon's speech, part two, turned out to be a diatribe against vigilante-ism, punctuated with a tri-dee image of Brenna's head, including a large ugly blue-black welt on her forehead next to the monitor strip, a split and swollen lip, and a black eye. Devon had waited a couple hours before having the image recorded, to let the bruises become as ugly as they might. Brenna had not yet awakened when the image had been recorded, of course. If she had, doubtless she would have ordered them not to take it. The bed had been factored out, however, and the direction of the image had been rotated so that it looked like she was upright but with closed eyes.

The picture Devon painted in his speech was that of a brave young woman working secretly on behalf of the resistance, unjustly branded by the very people she had helped to save, and who now wanted nothing more than a peaceful, anonymous life. Devon also pointed out during the course of the speech that Brenna was a patient at the Med-Center, that she was being treated for exhaustion and stress, and that she was pregnant at the time of the attack, although he didn't mention the scheduled pregnancy termination. Devon even went on to describe the heroism of Brenna's fiancé, who threw himself over her to protect her, and ended up receiving a number of blows himself. All the facts were straight, but they were presented in such a way as to paint the picture that Devon wanted. In all, it was a picture designed to elicit sympathy, and it succeeded admirably.

Devon also made it quite clear that this unveiling of Brenna's status as Number One was _his_ decision, not Brenna's, that she had made it quite clear that she preferred anonymity. He apologized publicly to Brenna, and said that he hoped she would understand his reasons and his concern for her safety.

Devon concluded the speech by saying that despite her illness, Brenna's primary concern before the attack had been to return the Lifers to their homeworlds just as quickly as was practical. He said that the plans to do so were moving forward, and if an individual did not wish to return to the homeworld of record—i.e., the world on which he/she/it had been captured by Etan Lippa's forces—that an alternate destination was possible; however, the Lifer who wanted to go to an alternate world would be bumped to the back of the list. He advised those wishing an alternate destination to tell the Medea Central Computer their destination of choice as soon as possible. Evacuation would begin just as soon as repairs to the shuttles necessary to load and unload _The Despondent_ were completed.

The very last thing Devon said before signing off was to hint at something else to come. "And if any individuals have found that they have developed a taste for adventure, they should volunteer to be bumped to the back of the list. Brenna and I are working on a project that might be of interest. Details are not available at this time, but I hope they will be soon forthcoming."

The media loved it. Medea's small spaceport became busy as the off-world network couriers carried the story back to their homeworlds and prepared to hurry back to learn what kind of "adventure" Devon Martuk had in mind.

Luke was curious as to what this project was. He waited for Devon's return by Brenna's bedside, where he had watched the speech on the room's vid monitor, and then ask him what this project was. Devon shook his head. He'd betrayed one secret of Brenna's already; he wasn't going to betray this one, not even to her father. Luke would just have to wait until Brenna told him, or it was public knowledge.

Brenna awoke a couple hours after Devon's speech. She opened her eyes, saw Luke, Rupert, and Devon there, then asked to speak with Devon alone. Luke and Rupert reluctantly left the room. After a while, Devon came out. Luke and Rupert started to go back in, but he took them by the arms and led them away from her room.

"She doesn't want to see either of you right now. I suggest you go back to your rooms, and I'll call you as soon as she's up to it."

"I've had enough of this 'up to it,'" Luke said. "We're her family!"

"I'll _call_ you as soon as she's ready to see you," Martuk repeated. A couple of security personnel fell in behind them. Luke sighed as he realized Devon must have called them from Brenna's room.

"What is going _on_?" Rupert asked.

Devon weakened a little, remembering the blows that Rupert had taken for Brenna. "Look, I'll talk to her, okay? But right now she feels awful, she looks awful, and she doesn't want either of you to see her like that."

"We've already seen her," Luke reminded him.

"I know that, but I don't want to upset her. If it makes you feel any better, when she finds out about my announcement, she probably won't want to see me, either. So let's just give her a little time, and follow hospital policy, and not force unwanted visitors on her."

So there was nothing to do for it but for Luke and Rupert to go back to their rooms and wait.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Face in the Shadows**

**Chapter Three**

After another two days of not being allowed to see his daughter, Luke decided it was time to take matters into his own hands. He slipped past the hospital security checkpoints, even with the tighter security. A few telepathic suggestions here, a little tiptoeing there, a small pretense at being a hospital orderly, and he was in. He might have a few suggestions to make to Devon to beef up the security, but he also didn't want to close off his own route, either. Informational security was more impressive than the physical security. Luke just hoped they hadn't moved Brenna to a different room.

Rupert was gone now, running a shipload of Lifers back to their homeworlds. He'd wanted to stay, but Devon had convinced him that it would be at least another two weeks or more before Brenna would agree to see him, before her bruises would heal, and in the meantime, it was Brenna's request that Rupert keep his promise to transport the Lifers home.

Luke couldn't sense his daughter's presence through the Force to follow it, though why she'd still be shielding from him was a mystery. Come to think of it, he hadn't sensed her presence at all since Croyus Four.

So why was she shielding _now_?

Fortunately, she hadn't changed rooms. He peeked from an adjoining corridor and saw Martuk enter her room. He held up a medical chart pad as if reading it, walked down the hallway, and stopped when he heard Brenna's voice. From his position, he couldn't see anything, but he could hear most of what was going on inside her room. He didn't feel particularly guilty about being in a position to eavesdrop. Even though he couldn't feel Brenna's presence, there was no reason why Brenna couldn't sense _his_. Shielding was not a double-blind phenomenon—although _why_ she'd be shielding was another question.

"Did you get it?" Brenna asked.

"It's yours," Martuk answered. "Legally, officially, and without contest."

"Thank you," Brenna said. There was a pause, and the sound of something metallic changing hands, like coins. "Have you decided?"

There was a hesitation, then, "Yes...I'm sorry, Brenna, but I can't. I can't keep up with you any more. As soon as we mop up here, I'm going back to the Academy to finish my degree. After that...if it's all right with you, I'd like to visit the Center from time to time and see how it's developing."

"You can do whatever you like," Brenna replied in a cold tone. "But it still leaves me with the problem of finding someone to run it."

Luke didn't have a clue what they were talking about, beyond the fact that it probably had something to do with the mystery Martuk had hinted at during the press conference, but he was rapidly reaching the conclusion that his daughter was being downright rude to her second-in-command.

"If you don't want to run it yourself—and I think you should—what about your father?" Martuk asked.

"What about him?" Brenna asked. Her voice lacked any enthusiasm.

"It seems to me that he'd be perfect for the job. Next to yourself, of course."

"It seems to _me_ that my father is none of your concern, especially if you're no longer going to be involved in the project."

"It was just a suggestion."

"Look...it's complicated, but...I don't want to have to take orders from him."

"Then _you_ run it and make _him_ second in command."

"It wouldn't work. He's a Jedi Knight."

"I don't exactly see how that follows, but as you say, it's none of my concern. He's been calling for you every day, you know. It's getting harder and harder to turn him away."

She sighed. "I know. I'm just so tired, I don't want to deal with him right now."

"That's the only reason I've been putting him off. You should take it easy with the project, too. Dr. Tibbik says you need to rest. You've certainly earned a vacation."

"There's too much to do. Listen...the next time my father comes, you can send him up. Just...warn me before he gets here, okay? Only the Deities know what he'll think when he finds out I've lost my powers."

Listening outside in the hallway, Luke was stunned. Brenna had become Force-blind? It seemed impossible. But...she was saying things she'd never say if she'd known he was there.

Then he heard Martuk say, "You don't know that for sure. Dr. Tibbik says—"

"Dr. Tibbik," Brenna interrupted, "is, I'm sure, a competent physician. But he knows nothing about the Force."

"True, but he knows plenty about psychology. Maybe if you _talked_ to him—"

"I have nothing to say to him, Devon."

There was a silence, and then Devon changed the subject. "You know, the first Lifer baby was born today. After learning what your role was on Croyus Four, the parents want to name her after you."

"Can you talk them out of it?"

"That's not the response I was looking for. I need a statement to give to the press."

"Well then, if you're not going to talk them out of it, I guess my statement is, they can give their baby whatever damn foolish name they want."

"That isn't exactly what the media would like to hear. Most people would consider it an honor."

"Then tell them I'm honored. I don't care. You're going to tell them whatever you want to anyway."

Luke decided that he'd heard enough. He stood up and slipped out of the hospital, and went back to his living suite to think.

.

.

.

Rupert's trip should have been a short one. The _Falcon_ wasn't equipped as a passenger ship, and the ride endured by the Lifers would not be a comfortable one. Yet instead of taking one large group to one nearby world, he'd been asked to take two smaller groups to two separate worlds, the second world being far enough away to require several days to reach it.

Since there were still many Lifers from both worlds waiting back on Medea, it would have made more sense to Rupert to just take as many passengers as he could to the first world, and leave off the more distant for a better equipped transport.

Well, he wasn't the one who invented the flight plan.

He delivered his first load of passengers without incident, and was on his way to delivering the second, when he decided to take a turn visiting his passengers in the cargo hold. The take-off had been a little rougher than he'd have liked, with enough turbulence to shake things up a bit.

Portable restroom facilities and cots had been set up, and Rupert kept the temperature as optimal as he could. Still, it was not the easiest ride, especially for take-offs and landings. He wanted to make sure there were no injuries or shiftings he should be aware of.

He climbed down into the hold, by now a familiar sight to many of the passengers. Conditions were somewhat less crowded now that half of his passengers were gone, but this was still no luxury cruise. "Everyone okay?" Rupert asked.

There was general assention, and Rupert meandered around the hold, repeating the question at intervals.

"Excuse me," the voice and the hand on his shoulder were feminine. Rupert turned to face a tall, graceful woman, about his mother's age, maybe a little older.

"Yes?"

"You're Captain Solo?"

"Yes," he replied a little hesitantly, wondering where this was heading.

"Then you must be Brenna's fiancé? How is she?"

Rupert took the woman by the arm and led her to a more secluded area. "How did you hear that? Are you a friend of hers?" Devon had kept Rupert's name from the media. If this woman knew that Rupert was Brenna's fiancé, then she was somehow included in either Brenna's or Devon's inner circle.

"No, no. Hardly an acquaintance, really. Mr. Martuk told me. How is she, Brenna?"

Rupert sighed. If this woman was hardly an acquaintance, then it was a sure bet Brenna hadn't talked to her, any more than she'd talked to Rupert or Luke. "She's…recovering. Who are you?"

"My name's Dion Tallard."

"Wait a minute," Rupert said, remembering the name. "You're the one who called in the attack, aren't you." The reason why he was doing this particular run was now clear. Martuk had bumped this woman to the top of the list, as a sort of thank you. "Ms. Tallard, if there's anything I can do for you, please, just name it. If you show me where your things are, I'll move them to a crew cabin immediately."

"Please don't. I had a hard enough time convincing Mr. Martuk to let me stay with the other people here. I just...wanted to know how she was doing. Would you relay a message to her for me?"

"Of course," Rupert said immediately.

"Would you tell her, please, not to give up dancing?"

"Dancing?" Rupert echoed.

Dion shook her head. "I didn't know who she was at first, and I'm ashamed to say I might not have called it in if I _had_ known. But that's neither here nor there, at this point. We can't worry about the past, can we? But tell her…not to give up dancing. Tell her…" Dion smiled suddenly. "Tell her, it's in her soul."

.

.

.

For a while, Luke worried a path into the carpet, then went to his things and pulled out a miniature holo-cube with Brenna's picture in it, no longer set to her as an infant, or to the lagoon on Kalmyr, but to the most recent holo he had of Brenna, as an almost-adult. He touched the sides in a sequence, and the picture dissolved to that of a dark-haired woman, not much older than Brenna herself was now, but the image of the woman had been taken when Brenna was still an infant.

"Brie," he said to the picture, "There's someone who needs you more than I do." His tone was a little sad, but his eyes were dry. He tucked the cube inside a pocket, opened a drawer and took out a cylindrical object, then strode purposefully to the door. By the time he arrived at the hospital again, as per Brenna's instructions to Martuk, the receptionist sent him up.

He knocked at her door, but there was no answer, so he let himself in. He could hear noises coming from the bathroom. "Brenna?" he called.

"I'll be out in a minute." she replied. "Make yourself comfortable."

Luke sighed, tapped his fingers together a few times, then looked out the door at another patient's room, where a vid-monitor showed an image of Brenna. By the time he turned the monitor in Brenna's room on, it was Devon's image staring out at him. "Brenna told me to say that she's very honored. This child is a symbol of what the Afterlife is all about, of hope, of new beginnings, of life itself. I think it's very fitting that Medea's first child should be named after the woman who made this place into what it is. Brenna and I convey our best wishes to the family."

The image dissolved to that of a mother holding a tiny infant with its scrunched red face for all to see, and the father standing proudly behind them both. The announcer's voice-over said, "Mother and baby are doing just fine. They are expected to be released from the Med-Center in—"

"Turn that off!"

Luke spun as he heard Brenna's voice, startled by the raw anger in it, startled again by the expression he saw on her face.

"I said, turn it off!" Without waiting for a reply, she strode across the room and violently slapped the switch that turned the power to the vid-monitor off.

The image of the family faded to nothingness. Brenna stood for a moment where she was, breathing heavily, not from physical exertion but from intense emotion. At that moment, Luke felt a flicker, just a flicker, of something in the Force. Then it was gone.

Brenna took another second to compose herself, then turned around. The painted face she wore became a literal reality as, for the first time Luke had ever known her to do, she was wearing make-up. Yet through the cosmetics, Luke could detect a slight darkening in the areas under her eyes, and there was no trace of the smile she had nearly always worn as a child. The bruises from her attack seemed mostly healed. At any rate, Luke couldn't see them through the make-up, just the barely discernable darkening under her eyes.

He was reminded of an old noblewoman he'd met once through Leia. Her back was ramrod straight, the corners of her mouth were turned down in a perpetual frown, and there was no trace of laughter in her eyes. Luke had later told Leia that he felt sorry for the old woman, because she obviously had no joy in her life, and he felt the same emotion now for his own daughter.

Then, after a moment, she said, "I'm sorry, Father," in a voice as composed as the face she wore. "Of course you can watch whatever you want." She turned back to the set and switched it back on, then moved away.

It took Luke two strides to reach the set and turn it off. Then he turned to face his daughter. "Why does that make you so upset?"

She shrugged, and turned away again.

"Why does that make you so upset?" Luke pressed, moving in front of her to face her.

She met his eyes steadily, but retreated a step. "I didn't want Devon to tell them I was Number One. I certainly don't want babies being named after me."

Luke wanted to hug her, but her distance and formality held him off. "Bren..." he said, staring at her.

"I understand you've been asking about me. Thank you for your concern."

Luke let her change the topic for the time being, too stunned by her polite formality to do much else. "I was...disappointed that they wouldn't let me in."

"I asked them not to. I haven't been at my best, I'm afraid. But as you can see, I _am_ recovering."

Luke wasn't so sure. "Brenna, I've been worried about you."

"There's no need to. I'm not in any danger."

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine."

He noticed the chain around Brenna's neck, threaded through a tiny computer disk of the sort legal documents were recorded on.

Brenna saw his gaze, and her hand went to her throat to finger the tiny disk. "It's a deed. The deed to Croyus Four, actually. I asked for the planet to be declared as a New Republic holding, then asked for it to be sold back to me, under certain provisions. I just acquired it."

Luke lifted his gaze to her eyes, concerned about what the 'provisions' were. "Isn't that a rather macabre souvenir?"

"Maybe, but the price was right. After all, it's not every day you can own an entire planet for practically nothing."

"Why would you want to?"

She drew herself up even straighter. "I plan to turn it into a disaster-relief center. Devon will make an announcement tonight to that effect. In fact, I'm glad you're here, since I have an offer to make you—if you're interested, and the business doesn't keep you away."

"The 'business'?"

"You know, the sort of thing you Jedi's do."

Luke noticed that Brenna didn't include herself in that phrase 'you Jedi's'. "What sort of...offer are you talking about?"

"The Center will need a leader. A site-commander, if you will. I understand that was your rank in the Alliance military. The job's yours, if you want it."

"What about you?"

She shrugged. "I'll serve in whatever capacity you see fit to place me. Field operative, fund-raiser, wherever you think I'll do the most good."

"I'll...think about it," Luke promised. He would indeed think about why his daughter was offering him the very thing he'd overheard her tell Martuk she was dead-set against. "In the meantime, I've brought you a present. Two, actually."

"Oh?" There was no interest in her voice, only a polite query.

Luke reached into a pocket of the work-overalls he'd been issued and brought out the holo-cube. "This...is all I have left of your mother." He handed it to her.

For a moment, a tiny light in Brenna's eyes—but only a tiny light—showed through the mask. She looked up at Luke in surprise, and something else he couldn't describe, then looked down into the cube. "I'd forgotten what she looked like..." she murmured.

"I know. I'm sorry for that."

"My mother..." Brenna said softly. Then her eyes changed, and she began looking not at the hologram, but at the cube itself. "I've seen this cube before..."

"Yes." Luke took it back from her and demonstrated a sequence of tapping on the sides of the cube. It dissolved into a picture of a lagoon with blue waves breaking gently against the shore and birds flying into and out of the scene as the holographic imaged looped. It was the sort of thing one might by as an expensive souvenir of some vacation resort, except that this image had come from Kalmyr, from his wife's—he thought of Briande as his wife, even though they had never made it official—his wife's favorite hideaway. That was the way he'd kept the cube back on Tatooine, when he didn't want anyone to accidentally find a likeness of Brenna that might help Lippa to locate her.

Brenna looked at him. "That's impossible. You can't put more than one holo-picture in a cube of this size."

"'If it exists, then it must be possible,'" Luke said, quoting an expression that had made its way into standard. "A former student of mine developed a technique that made it possible. What you're holding there is the prototype, and the only one of its kind. Unfortunately, he died before he had the chance to market it. That cube was given to me the day you were born."

"Who was your student?"

"Colin Rees."

She nodded, recognizing the name. Colin Rees was one of Etan Lippa's first victims. "A 'Feeler'—a psychokinetic," she murmured. Then she asked, "How does it work?"

"I don't know. Unfortunately, I'd have to take it apart to find out anything about its workings, but since the process would destroy the holo's stored inside, I've had no desire to do so. The pictures are in a sequence. If you hold the cube so that the waves are coming toward you, you can advance to the next image by tapping it like this, see?" He demonstrated, and the cube-image dissolved into a likeness of Brenna as an infant, then as a toddler. "Or reverse the sequence by tapping it like this." He showed her how, and the image became that of the shore again. "Once you know the sequence number of the image you want to see, you can access it directly by tapping like this." He showed her how to key in the sequence number, and the cube dissolved back into the image of his wife that he initially showed Brenna. Luke gave the cube back to Brenna, and she stared at it in fascination, then played with the sequence program as he had shown her.

He didn't know if her interest was caused by the images, or by the technology of the cube, but at least the interest was there.

Luke decided it was time to offer his other present, as well. He pulled the lightsaber from a pocket and held it out to her. It still had no energy cell—as it hadn't when he first took it from her, back on Tatooine—but Brenna would now have easy access to the final component that would make it operational. She had, in fact, built an entirely new one from scratch since that time, and made it work. But that one she had left on Croyus Four, on the floor next to Etan Lippa's body. "This belongs to you, I think," Luke said.

Brenna looked up from the cube. Her expression hardened again as she saw what it was. She looked back at the cube for a moment, then drew herself up and met Luke's eyes. "Thank you, Father, but I don't...think I'll need that any more."

Luke waved a hand in dismissal. "You'll feel differently after you've had some more rest."

She closed her eyes for a brief moment, then found her resolve and opened them again. "I've lost my powers," she confessed.

Luke tried to keep his tone light. "Oh? I expect you'll get them back after you're rested."

Brenna examined the lightsaber again. Luke saw a muscle in her jaw pulse, as if she were clenching her teeth. Then she looked back up at Luke, held the lightsaber back out to him, and said, "I don't want it."

"Why not?"

"I've had enough of killing."

Luke studied her. Her mother had once said very nearly the same thing, when he had first begun to train her, and before she had learned what being a Jedi Knight was really about. "It's just a tool, Brenna."

"It's also a weapon. And a symbol."

"It might come in handy if you're doing field work in disaster-relief. A lightsaber slices through rubble just as efficiently as it slices through...anything else." He'd almost said 'flesh,' but decided it was probably not a wise thing to say.

"I think I'd prefer a laser drill."

Luke refrained from delivering a dissertation on the relative advantages of a lightsaber over a laser drill. Instead, he accepted the lightsaber back and hooked it on his belt under his robe. Maybe she would reconsider her decision later.

Brenna rubbed her forehead with the heel of her palm. "Father, it's late, and I'm tired."

Luke took the hint, which was actually more like a command. "May I come see you tomorrow?"

"Yes, of course."

Luke crossed over to the door, feeling again like he'd missed something, something important. He opened the door, stepped through, and started to pull it shut from the other side. Then he suddenly realized what he hadn't told Brenna in a long time, and although he was sure she knew it, it wouldn't hurt to repeat. He opened the door again, and said, "Bren...I love you."

She looked startled for the barest fraction of an instant. Then she drew herself up. "Thank you, Father. I love you, too."

Luke nodded and pulled the door shut. No, that wasn't it, not entirely, anyway. But there was something equally obvious, something right under his nose that he was missing.

What _was_ it?


	4. Chapter 4

**The Face in the Shadows**

**Chapter Four**

Griffin, Rupert's co-pilot assigned to him by Devon Martuk, was in the passenger compartment playing tri-D squares against Artoo when he felt the Falcon's motion change. Griffin abandoned the game and went quickly but without running to the cockpit. The non-shifting stars confirmed what he had sensed, and he looked at the ship's pilot with a puzzled expression.

"You cut into sub-light. How come?"

Rupert shook his head, as puzzled as his co-pilot. "I don't know. I just had the feeling that I should stop."

"Oh," Griffin said, as if it was the most natural thing in the galaxy, and slid into his co-pilot's couch. He pulled up his instrumentation. "Anything in particular I should be looking for?"

Rupert shrugged. "Anything."

Griffin looked at the bleep on his sensors. "Well, I've got an 'anything' for you."

"What?"

Griffin pushed the display over to Rupert and pointed to a dot on the outer edge of the screen. "Looks like a small ship, a fighter, maybe. It's just sitting there."

"Huh!" Rupert keyed in a command and waited for the readout. "No life-signs, no weaponry...How'd it get here?"

"You want to go in for a closer look?"

"You read my mind," Rupert answered. He turned the Falcon and piloted it to the small object drifting in the middle of nowhere. In the meantime, Griffin re-scanned the craft.

"Looks like it crashed," Griffin commented. "The fore and keel have been damaged. Propulsion units appear to be intact, but fuel cells are empty...Why would anyone abandon this piece of garbage out here instead of junking it at a reclaiming facility?"

"I don't know. Can you see anything through the canopy? I know it's shielded, but..."

"No. Hey, I recognize that design. It's not a fighter, it's an escape craft. What's it doing way out here?"

Rupert didn't answer. He was focused on something else. For a moment, he was sensing something outside the range of normal sight or hearing. It was what had caused him to stop. But now it was close, very close. He refocused back to the _Falcon_ and his companion. "There's somebody in there!"

Griffin looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. "Sensors aren't showing anything. And the antenna array's intact, but there's no distress signal."

"Someone's in there," Rupert insisted. He activated the cargo grappling claw and extended it to the other craft. He latched onto it and secured the clamps.

"Now what?" Griffin asked. "You don't have a docking lock."

Rupert turned to him with a grin. "This is a cargo ship, isn't it? And I just happen to have an empty cargo hold."

"Yeah, but how are you going to—"

Rupert flipped a couple of switches, and Griffin leaned over to look. "What are you doing?"

"Depressurizing the hold."

Griffin sat back. "Oh." He thought for a minute, then asked, "Isn't space-loading capability illegal?"

"I got this ship from a smuggler. He wasn't too worried about legalities. He was more worried about how to dump and retrieve illicit cargo."

"Oh." He thought for another minute, then asked, "Who was the smuggler?"

"My dad."

Griffin started to say something, then thought the better of it.

"Okay, it's loaded," Rupert said. "Let's go see what we've got."

They had to wait a few minutes for the hold to finish repressurizing, but the short wait gave Rupert enough time to rummage around in a locker for a hand-held scanner and a couple of other tools. Once the accessway slid open, Rupert did a quick check for radiation levels before they approached the small derelict.

Griffin leaned right up against the tinted cockpit and pressed his face up against the glass, shielding the glare with his hands. He could barely make out the shape of a torso and head, with the head lolled to one side. "You were right," Griffin murmured. "There is someone in there. But I think he's dead."

Rupert handed him a wrench, and wordlessly in unison, they started working on the canopy locking mechanism from opposite sides. In a couple of minutes, the canopy was free to raise, and the two men began coughing.

"Micron gas," Griffin gasped. "This stuff'll kill you."

"Help me pull him out, and then let's get the Hell out of here," Rupert gasped.

Together, the two men lifted the slight form of the pilot out, and Rupert carried him fireman style to the cargo bay doors. Once outside the doors, Rupert set the body down.

"Deities," Griffin gasped once they were out of the bay and could get a clear look at the pilot. "He's just a kid! What do you think, may fourteen or fifteen in standard years?"

Rupert put an ear to the boy's chest and listened, wishing he had a med-scanner. "He's still alive!"

Griffin looked at him. "You're kidding."

"No. Let's set him up with some oxygen and see if we can't keep him alive until we get back to Medea..." He looked at the boy's face, studying the features for the first time. His brow furrowed.

"What, you don't actually _know_ him, do you?" Griffin asked.

"No," Rupert answered. "But...there _is_ something familiar about him..."

Rupert sent a message ahead that he was bringing in an emergency, and the med-staff was duly notified. They met Rupert at the landing bay and took immediate possession of the boy, and rushed him to the med-center.

The micron gas had pretty much turned most of the boy's insides to mush. There was enough liver left to regenerate in a bacta tank, but the kidneys were completely gone. They kept the boy on life-support, figuring they would have to transport him to a better facility, one with a large databank of potential donors. As a matter of routine, however, they ran a donor check on Medea's medical computer.

In the meantime, there was some speculation as to where the boy had come from. The registry number of the ship—escape pod, really—had been partially destroyed by whatever had damaged the thing, and what _was_ visible didn't match anything on record reported as missing.

Some thought the boy was a runaway, and notification was made to the appropriate channels, but no record seemed to exist of him. The boy himself was in no shape to answer questions. The doctors thought it best to keep him as quiet as possible, to conserve what little body functioning he had and keep stress to a minimum, so they kept him in a coma rather than waking him. The flight tapes on the escape craft had been destroyed in what appeared to be an atmospheric crash-landing. All that was available was the navigational jump log, but it would take some time to analyze the data. The end result was that there was no immediately available information to tell who the boy was or where he had come from.

And then the Medean computer came back with a response that surprised everyone.

It found a donor.

.

.

.

"Brenna," Devon said, "I've got some news that I believe will interest you."

She sat back and regarded him. "What news?"

"It's about the boy Rupert found."

Frowning, Brenna asked, "Have they found a donor?"

Devon took a deep breath and said, "As a matter of fact, they have. By comparing a sample of the boy's tissue with all the records on the database, they found someone who is genetically similar enough to be a prime candidate."

"Great. Who is it?"

"You."

She blinked. "Me?"

"According to the computer DNA match, the kid is your half-brother."

"What?" Brenna shook her head. "That's impossible."

"Genetics don't lie."

"Did they run a comparison against my father?"

"Yes. No genetic match. I asked them to run it against both of you again, just to make sure. The results were the same. You're a match. Your father isn't. Which means, you and the kid have the same mother."

Brenna shook her head again. "There must be some mistake. My mother died before the boy could even have been born. You'd better tell them to have their medical scanners recalibrated, and update their records."

Devon pursed his lips. "I also asked them to run a comparison between you and your father. You're definitely your father's daughter. But you're also half-sister to that boy Rupert brought in."

Brenna stood up and walked to the window. She thought for a moment, then shook her head. "Something's wrong. My father wouldn't lie to me about that. My mother died when I was two." She turned away from the window, then took Devon by the arm and propelled him toward the med-center. "Have them take another sample from the boy, and compare it with a fresh sample from me, and run it through a different computer. I want to know for sure, one way or the other."

.

.

.

The buzzer to Luke's suite rang incessantly, despite his attempts to ignore it. "Yes, all right, enter," he said, losing patience. He'd been trying one-handedly to adjust the settings on his artificial hand, and wasn't in the mood for dealing with another one of Martuk's subordinates.

But it was Brenna who stormed inside as soon as the computer had released the lock on his voice command. Her face was angry, and Luke forgot about his bionics tuning.

"I want to know why you lied to me about my mother," Brenna demanded angrily, not bothering to voice a greeting.

"Brenna, what—"

"I want to know what happened with my mother, and this time, I want the truth!"

Luke studied her, trying to figure out what was going on with her. "Brenna, your mother was killed by Etan Lippa. That's the truth."

"Don't give me that story again! But that was story number two, wasn't it? Before that, you told me that she got sick and died. Shall we try for story number three? Or do you think maybe I could get the truth this time?"

Luke drew himself up. "Brenna, I have no idea what you're talking about. Etan Lippa killed your mother. It happened when you were two years old. That _is_ the truth."

Brenna reached into her pocket and took out the holo-cube Luke had given her. She let out a cry of frustration as she flung it with all her strength across the short distance to the wall. It ricocheted against the wall, landed on the floor, and rolled before it came to a stop. The cube glowed for a moment, then died. The hologram inside was no longer visible.

Luke stared at it for a moment, then at her.

Her eyes were watery. "All I wanted," she said, her voice cracking, "was the truth!" She turned and fled.

In a daze, Luke stooped and picked up the holo-cube. It was cracked. The images were gone. His jaw was clenched as he looked back towards the door. He dropped the cube and took off after Brenna. But when he got outside the building, all he saw was the rear of a medical transport speeding away.

It didn't take long for Luke to reach the med-center after Brenna, but he couldn't get past the outer doors, which were barred by security personnel. Finally, Luke insisted on talking to Devon Martuk, then had to wait for Martuk to arrive.

"I have to see Brenna."

"You can't. She's being prepped for surgery."

"_Surgery_?" Luke repeated uncomprehendingly.

"Didn't she tell you? That's why she went to see you."

"Tell me what?"

Martuk sighed, then took Luke by the arm and led him through the checkpoint. While he was under Martuk's escort, the guards made no protest.

"Will you tell me what's going on?"

"I'd prefer for Brenna to tell you herself. She hasn't specifically ordered me not to, but—"

"Tell me!" Luke demanded.

"She'll have my head."

"I'll have your head if you don't, and right now I'm far more dangerous than Brenna could possibly be."

Martuk stopped and looked at him. "Don't threaten me. I've already betrayed her trust once, and the only reason I'm even considering doing it again is because I think she needs you."

"Then tell me, for Brenna's sake, just what in Hell is going on?"

Martuk started walking again. Luke fell into step beside him. "The boy Rupert brought in, without enough of a kidney to regenerate? She's the donor. The kid's her half-brother. They have the same mother."

This time, it was Luke who stopped, frozen in his tracks. "But that's...impossible."

Devon let Luke enter the surgery before the operation began. Brenna was lying on the table, under a sterile field generator that hadn't yet been activated. She was already unconscious, and wore a monitor patch on her forehead. Luke had been told that she probably wouldn't be able to hear him, but he had insisted on seeing her anyway.

Hesitantly, Luke reached out and touched her cheek with the back of his hand. He bent down close to her ear. "Bren," he said softly, "I can't explain this any more than you can. I believed what I told you about how she died. She _had_ to have died, because there's no other explanation for it. I'm sorry, I don't have an answer for you, and I know you need one. But I can promise you this much: when you wake up again, we'll look for the answer together."

A nurse came in and went to Luke. "I'm sorry, sir, but you'll have to leave. Mr. Martuk should not have let you in."

Luke nodded, but turned back to Brenna for just a moment. He brushed his fingertips across the hair on her forehead. "Sleep well, Bren. We'll talk when you wake up." Then he looked at the nurse. "Do you think I could see the boy?"

"I'm sorry, but the boy is unconscious, and—"

"I just want to see him," Luke said. "If I could just _look_ at him, I might know for sure if Briande—if Brenna's mother and his are the same."

"They are," the nurse assured him. "Computers don't lie."

"_Look_," Luke said, growing a little angry. "I have believed for nearly twenty years that my wife was dead. If this boy really _is_ her son, then that means she may still be alive! I _have_ to see him, to know if there's anything of her in him."

The nurse relented somewhat. "I'll talk with the doctor," she promised.

As soon as Luke saw the unconscious boy, he knew that Briande's genes were in him. There was no mistaking the cheekbones or the shape of his nose.

Her genes, at least, but beyond that…

Luke's mind became dizzy with the possibilities. Briande had had an identical twin sister, for whom Brenna had been named. Identical twins were genetically similar enough to fool a computer, but there was absolutely no doubt that Brenna Brellis had died years before Brenna had been conceived. Luke had been there, had even shared consciousness with the Imperial Administrator, and there was no mistaking that Brenna Brellis had died.

There had been no mistake about Briande, either. Except that Luke hadn't actually been there physically when Briande died. Yet if Briande had lived, she would have contacted Luke telepathically, no matter what the distance. And the way that Briande's last sending had been cut off so abruptly… He hadn't doubted then. He wouldn't doubt now, except that the boy's existence was so inexplicable.

A clone?

Was it possible that Etan Lippa had somehow cloned Briande? Was this boy, then, Etan Lippa's son, from a Briande-clone? Or perhaps from a clone of the original Brenna Brellis? Who could say who the mother was, beyond a genetic match of Briande or Brenna Brellis?

The only thing Luke knew for certain was that he had tried many times to contact Briande telepathically, and there had been no answer. If Briande Brellis had lived, if there had been any way for her to answer the contact, she would have done it.

So who was the boy, and where had he come from?

And who was his mother?

.

.

.

It was a meeting between the three of them: Luke, Brenna, and Rupert. Brenna arrived last, but she was still five minutes ahead of the arranged time.

"Well?" Luke asked anxiously.

Brenna sat stiffly in the last seat. "Well, his name is Aren, and he doesn't know much beyond that. He says he wants to go 'home,' but he can't tell me what world he's from, or even point it out on a star map. There's no neurological damage from the micron gas—he just doesn't know. All he can tell me is that he's from a small village near the Glenlyn border, on the Elgood Road, but that obviously doesn't help much. I asked him where he got the ship, and he says he found it. He doesn't know how to operate it. He just pushed some buttons and ended up where Rupert found him."

"What about his parents?" Luke asked.

"I'm getting to that. When I asked him about his parents, he told me that they were simple farmers. He says their names are Timmon and Elaan. The name Briande Brellis means nothing to him. Nor does the name Luke Skywalker, or Brenna Brellis, or Etan Lippa, or Palpatine, or anything else I could think of. He knows nothing of the Resurgence, never even heard of the Rebellion, and is basically pretty ignorant of just about everything. He's fascinated by the medical equipment and apparently has never even seen a med-scanner before. From his description of this 'Elaan,' it _could_ be her, but then again, it might not be." She sighed regretfully. "If I hadn't broken the holo-cube, we might know for sure."

"What else?" Luke pressed. "Anything might give us a clue. His speech, his mannerisms—anything."

"There's not much else. He speaks in Standard, but it's a very formal dialect. He doesn't use contractions, for example, and he'll say 'what manner of' instead of 'what kind of'. He can't pronounce my name worth guaco beans—he keeps trying to put the accent on the second syllable. He wants to know how the entire building can be lighted without fire. He's amazed that doors can open without pushing them. He's never operated a vid-screen before, and he thinks that the images inside are created by some sort of voo-doo. He thought Dr. Tibbik was some kind of strange new farm animal. He's obviously never seen a non-human sentient before, but to his credit, he seems to have adjusted to the concept fairly quickly. He seems intelligent enough."

"Curious?"

"Very. It's hard to keep him focused on my questions when he has so many of his own. Not that he has any real answers for me. I suspect his ship can provide us with more answers than he can."

Luke sighed. "We traced the computer logs back from the point where Rupert picked him up, and correlated that against the appropriate star maps. It seems to indicate he came from somewhere in the Torquil region, but all records indicate no inhabited planets there."

"Show me."

Luke punched a few keys on his display, then shifted the viewer to Brenna and pointed to the area.

Brenna looked at it for a moment, then cleared the display and began a library search. She seemed to be looking for something in particular, and sure enough, after several long minutes of searching, she seemed to have found it. "That area of the Torquil region has only been explored by remotes." she said, shifting the viewer back to Luke.

"So?" Rupert frowned.

"So, they could have missed something. Remotes are not always the most reliable sources of information. They've been known to miss things before."

"I guess that leaves us with just one option," Luke said.

"What's that?"

He leaned forward and looked at the two younger people. "As soon as the boy is able to travel, I'm going to take him back to the Torquil region, back to his home. I'm going to find out for sure who his mother is."

"I'm going with you," Brenna announced.

To her surprise, Luke didn't argue. "All right. As long as your doctors don't object."

"I'm coming, too," Rupert said.

It was Brenna rather than Luke who objected. "No, Rupert," she said. "You're needed here. There are still so many people who need to be returned to their homes, and you've got the best ship to do that."

"This is more important."

"Not to them. And I...need some time to myself."

Rupert's eyes clouded. "You don't want me with you."

"In fact, I do. But right now I _need_ you to take the refugees to their homes." Her voice was matter-of-fact, but her eyes held his in the closest thing to a plea he had seen since they arrived.

"I'm not so sure it's a good idea for Brenna to be going on this trip," Rupert said. "Dr. Tibbik says she should take it easy for a while yet. And especially without her powers, it could be dangerous for her to go."

"Would you mind telling me just how I'm supposed to keep her from going?"

"Talk to her. Make her see reason."

"_You_ talk to her. She thinks I lied to her about her mother. If I try to leave her behind, she'll only be more convinced, and she won't believe anything I tell her."

"You know she won't listen to me."

"Ditto. Besides, the boy, Aren? He feels obligated to Brenna, but not to me. If he perceives that she's the one taking him back, he'll be doubly obligated to her, which could be useful."

"If you want to talk about this 'life-debt' business of his, _I'm_ the one who found him."

"Yeah, but if you tell him that the way to cancel his debt with you is to serve Brenna, he'll have that much more reason to take us to his mother."

"I'll do what you want, of course. But I'd still rather go with you."

"No, Brenna's right. This is for the two of us alone. You're needed here. But don't worry. If the rest of Aren's world is as technologically backwards as he is, then a lightsaber or two is more than enough protection. And I'll make sure Brenna doesn't overdo it. No, the only thing I'm worried about is who Aren's mother might turn out to be."


	5. Chapter 5

**The Face in the Shadows**

**Chapter Five**

Luke paced like a caged animal. Brenna sat by the fireplace and stared at the flames within it as if in meditation.

It had taken an inordinately long time to find a landmark that Aren recognized, since the concept of "map," especially for an entire world, was totally new to him. Brenna had had to quiz him extensively about climate, terrain, landmarks, and anything else of possible significance, had fed all that into the computer, and then poured over the hundreds and hundreds of possible matches before finally coming up with something Aren had recognized. Even then, Aren had missed it the first time they'd gone over the matches, because he was unused to the idea of "aerial view." But finally they had found an area he recognized, and Luke used the shuttle's sensors to find an adequate hiding place for the small ship. Then they had hiked to the town, and Aren took them to the primitive little inn that was located there. Aren had said something to the innkeeper that Luke and Brenna couldn't hear, produced the few coins of local currency that had been in his pockets when Rupert had found him, and the inkeeper took the group upstairs to a small, private room. Then Aren had left, stating that he could make his way home faster without Luke and Brenna, and would return with his parents.

Luke had wanted to go with Aren, but Brenna had said in a low tone that she didn't think Aren trusted them enough to show them where he lived, and that her vote was to wait at the inn for Aren's parents.

That had been a day and a half ago, and Aren had told them they could start expecting his parents anytime after mid-morning, and it was now mid-afternoon.

"They're not coming," Luke said, finally.

Brenna looked up from the fire. "Who's the one always talking about 'patience'?"

Luke pulled up a chair and sat beside her. "How do you do it? How do you stay so calm, knowing who she is? Who she might be?"

Brenna shrugged. "It's like I said before. If she had wanted to contact us, she would have. If it _is_ her, she doesn't want to see us. I just want to know what happened, why she chose to leave me—us."

"That can't be true, Bren. You were so young, you just don't remember her."

"Maybe _your_ memory is tainted by wishful thinking."

Luke shook his head at how wrong she was. "How can I explain it to you? We were closer than most people can ever hope to be. Your mother had some telepathic gifts as well as the shielding. We shared a mind-link. I'm sorry I can't explain it any better, but you'll understand once you've experienced it."

"It's not all that it's cracked up to be. In case you've forgotten, I _have_ experienced a mind-link."

"No, you haven't. Not the kind I'm talking about. What I mean is...accepting someone else for everything they are—including all the Dark little secrets that are kept tucked away in hidden places—and be willing to share all _your_ dark secrets."

"Sounds dreadful."

"It's not, really. With the right person, it's perfect acceptance, and absolute forgiveness. It's hard at first, but the more you realize that _every_one has those little dark places, the easier it is to forgive—both your partner, and yourself. I'm sorry I never...opened up to you that way. I guess I was afraid that if you knew too much about who you really were, I wouldn't be able to hide you from Lippa. But maybe you and Rupert—"

"Well, if it's just the same to you, I don't want to know anyone's little dark secrets, and I certainly don't want you or Rupert to know mine."

"Ah, but the thing is, if you _did_ know our little secrets, then maybe you'd realize that yours weren't so bad after all, and you wouldn't be so hard on yourself. And knowing that someone knew everything about you and still loved you—there's no other feeling like it."

Brenna picked up a piece of wood and used it to poke the fire before adding it to the dying flames. "You can have it. I like my thoughts right where they are—inside my own head, where they belong."

Luke had no reply to that, so he stood up and began pacing again.

Brenna looked at him. "Look...Dad...whatever happens, whoever she turns out to be, don't get your hopes up too high, all right?"

Luke grinned. She had called him 'Dad,' at least. "What, are you worried your old man might be too let down from the disappointment?"

"Yes."

Luke went over to her and kissed her on the forehead. "I'll be careful. I promise."

He paced again. Brenna turned her attention back to the fire.

It seemed like forever before the knock came. Luke rushed to the door immediately. Brenna stood up but otherwise remained where she was by the fire.

There was a man at the door, about Luke's age, with black hair salted with gray instead of Luke's silver-white, and a somewhat more stocky build, but clean-shaven, and dressed in simple woven clothes covered by a woolen cloak. His eyes glinted like ice and suggested that there were probably weapons hidden under the cloak.

Behind him, in the shadows, was the figure of a woman who was also dressed in a cloak, but whose face was hidden by a hood. Luke stared past the man, not even seeing him, trying to see past the shadows and the hood, but unable to penetrate the darkness with either his eyes or the Force. She stood in an attitude, not of submission, but of quiet composure, allowing the man to take charge of the situation while she observed.

The man spoke. His voice was rich in resonance, but flat in tone. "I am Timmon, father of Aren. I understand that my son owes you a life-debt." He spoke to Luke, not to Brenna, even though Luke could not take his eyes off the hooded woman to return Timmon's gaze.

Brenna saw that her father was not going to answer, and stepped forward. "I am Brenna, daughter of Luke. Your coming cancels his debt."

Timmon frowned, as if it was uncustomary for a female to speak first. He looked first at Brenna, inclined his head, and said "Br'naugh," then inclined his head toward Luke and said, "Loo-kah." It was the same sort of pronunciation Aren tried to make of their names. Timmon turned his head slightly to indicate the woman behind him. "My wife, Elaan." He pronounced the name with the accent on an elongated second syllable. His eyes flitted back and forth between Brenna and Luke. "It is not customary to involve others in a life-debt."

"Our apologies," Brenna answered. "We are not used to your customs, and we could find no other way to meet you. It is very important to us."

"Why?"

Brenna glanced at her father, and continued her role as spokesperson, imitating the man's formal version of Standard. "We seek one who is called 'Briande.' We believe Aren's mother may be she."

"There is no 'Briande' here, only myself and Elaan. We have come, and our son's debt is canceled." Timmon turned to go, but the woman put a restraining hand on his arm. She turned her face up to him, but the shadows of the hood still hid her features to Luke and Brenna.

"Wait," she said. Her voice was quiet and melodic—completely unlike Timmon's, yet familiar, somehow. At first, Brenna thought it reminded her of Aren, but then she knew that wasn't how she knew it. It was a voice from her childhood, a voice that had comforted her, sung to her, whispered to her in the darkness, and given it light.

The woman turned her head forward again, then slowly, with both hands, pulled the hood back from her face. Brenna drew in a breath and heard her father do the same. The face was the same as in the holo-cube, only older. She was beautiful. She was strong without being domineering. She was in her mid- to late-forties, standard time, approaching but perhaps not yet reaching the end of her child-bearing years. Her long, dark hair, not yet turned to gray, was pulled back into a thick knot, revealing her features. Her eyes were dark green, with a slight slant, almost feline. Her cheeks were set high, like Brenna's. The few lines around her eyes had been made by laughter rather than hardship. She might even have appeared serene, except for the burning intensity of her eyes as they searched Luke's and Brenna's face. Brenna knew, without a doubt, that this woman was her mother.

"I am Elaan," she said, "wife of Timmon and mother of Aren. Am I the one you seek?"

Somehow, Luke managed to find his voice and squeeze it past the lump in his throat. "Briande..." he whispered.

"Dad," Brenna said, "I think we should invite them inside."

Luke glanced at her, then realized she was right. He didn't really want this meeting to be a public event. He stepped to the side and held the door open. "Please—" he said.

Timmon glanced at his wife, who nodded, and he entered the room as if he expected some sort of trap. Briande—Elaan?—followed him, looking first at Brenna, then at Luke. Her brows were furrowed thoughtfully.

Luke closed the door, then looked at the woman he had believed long dead. She, in turn, looked back at him, and her brows furrowed deeper. "You...are familiar to me somehow..." she said.

"Briande, it's _me_. _Luke_. This is _Brenna_."

"Forgive me. You say those names as if they should have meaning for me. There is something familiar about them, to be sure, but..."

Timmon moved next to his wife protectively. "You see, she does not know you."

Father and daughter exchanged glances. "I'm going to scan her," Brenna said. She went to her satchel, opened it up, and took out the med scanner. At the sight of the device, the man quickly reached into his cloak to unsheathe a steel sword and hold it in front of himself in nearly the same position Luke might have taken for lightsaber practice. Of course, the metallic weapon didn't stand a chance against an energy weapon, but Timmon had probably never even dreamed of anything like a lightsaber.

"Take it easy," Brenna said evenly. "It's just a scanner."

Timmon's eyes darted from one to the other. "Aren told me of the miracles your machines can accomplish. But I believe that you can bleed just as well as I. We agreed to come, nothing more, and now we will go." Timmon gestured toward his wife with his head, and took a sideways step towards the door, careful not to turn his back on two potential enemies. At the same time, Luke moved in front of Brenna like a shield, but he left his weapon on his belt, although he pushed his cloak back to make a quicker draw, if he needed it.

It was Briande-Elaan who took control of the situation. She put a restraining hand on her husband's sword arm. "They mean me no harm," she said. "And the woman is with child. Surely she would not bring evil upon herself while she carries the life of another. And I would know who these people are."

Brenna drew in a breath as she realized the woman had known she was pregnant.

"I will not permit them to take you from me," Timmon said.

"Timmon! Are you not my husband? Have I not already sworn to stay with you for the length of our lives?"

"I will not permit them to use their machines on you. If the off-worlders make you remember your life before, you may forget your life now."

Brenna glanced at her father, to see if he understood the implications of what Timmon had just said, then set the scanner down. "Look," she said, talking to Briande-Elaan rather than Timmon. "All I want to do is scan you. You owe us that much. My father has mourned you for practically my whole life. Now he finds that you're still alive, and you don't even _know_ him. You don't know who _I_ am. We have questions, and we need answers. The _least_ you can do is let us take a medical scan."

Briande-Elaan looked at the scanner. "This device...will answer your questions?"

"Some of them, yes."

"Will it change me in any way, change my thoughts?"

"No. It's just a medical scanner. It will tell us if there is a medical reason why you don't remember us."

"If I permit it...will you...give me your word not to take me from here?"

Brenna looked at her father, leaving the question to him. He stepped forward. "We will not take you anywhere against your will," he said.

Brenna raised an eyebrow. Her father hadn't promised not to try to change her will.

"And when you are finished, will you answer some questions of mine?"

"I'll answer any questions you ask," Luke responded.

Briande-Elaan glanced at Timmon, then moved toward Brenna. "I will permit it," she said. "Timmon, put away your sword."

Timmon looked at Luke and Brenna suspiciously, and did not lower the weapon.

Elaan's eyes flashed angrily. "Timmon! There is no danger here. You know that I have a sense for such things. You do not know what it is like to live with your mind full of questions. Whoever I was before, I am Elaan now. Yet I still see shadows of that before-time. If I am ever to be at peace, I must know the faces that make the shadows. Now do as I bid!"

Reluctantly, Timmon lowered his weapon, but he did not put it away.

Brenna sighed. "Dad, maybe I should scan you first."

Luke nodded agreement, and Brenna adjusted the settings for a cranial scan. She held the scanner next to Luke's head and moved it slowly around his skull as she read the monitor. "Abnormally high activity levels in the medulla region—which is typical for a Force-sensitive…Evidence of some minor concussions in the past, long healed…" Brenna stopped scanning and looked at her mother. "See? Nothing to it."

Briande-Elaan eyed the scanner. "What must I do?"

"Nothing. Although you might be more comfortable if you sat down."

The older woman glanced at Timmon, then sat down in the nearest chair. She held out a hand, and Timmon took it. Brenna saw the expression of pain that crossed her father's face as he saw the gesture, but there was nothing she could do about that. She held the scanner near Briande-Elaan's skull, moved it slightly, and studied the readings. "I'm picking up evidence of a history of severe head trauma. There's a great deal of scarring in the front left temporal region."

"Accidental or induced?" Luke asked.

Brenna shook her head. "Impossible to tell. But it would account for a massive memory loss."

"Retrievable?"

"Not medically. Maybe through Force-healing." Brenna moved the scanner a little lower. "High activity in the medulla region. She probably still feels the Force, although she may have forgotten how to use it."

"Other injuries?"

Brenna changed the setting and moved the scanner down the front of Elaan's body, then in a circular motion. "Several ribs have been cracked and healed." She moved the scanner down each of Elaan's arms. "Her left arm's been broken in two places. One of the breaks was not set properly and could use a realignment. She probably experiences some weakness in that arm." Brenna checked Elaan's legs. "No damage to either femur, tibia, or fibula, although there is evidence of an injury to the—"

"To the knee cap of her right leg," Luke finished.

Brenna looked at him. "Yes."

"That happened before you were born, on a training retreat. One of my students got into trouble on an exercise, and...Briande got him out."

Brenna finished the scan and stood up.

"Have you finished?" Briande-Elaan asked.

Brenna turned the scanner off. "Yes."

"Then it is my turn to ask questions."

"Ask," Luke said.

She stood up, took a few steps away, then turned back to face Brenna and Luke. "Who _are_ you? I feel I should know you, and I _don't_. Why am I here? Was I cast out? Did I do something to dishonor myself, or my family? Why has no one come before now? And why now, after all this time?"

Luke took a step towards her with his hands outstretched. "I thought you were dead. Your last sending was so clear, and when you never answered me...Please, Brie, forgive me."

"I do not know what there is to forgive, which is why I must ask again. Who _are_ you? Who am _I_?"

Luke focused only on the woman and ignored Timmon and everything else in the room. "Your name is Briande. I'm Luke. This is Brenna. I'm..." he hesitated, glanced at Brenna, looked back at Briande-Elaan, and pressed his lips together momentarily. Then he finished, "I'm your brother."

Brenna looked at her father sharply. Her _brother_? Why in Deities name was he casting himself in that role? And did she now have to pretend that she was this woman's _niece_?

Elaan-Briande searched his face a moment as if for confirmation. Then she grasped Luke's good hand and pressed it to her lips fervently, then threw her arms around him with a cry, and hugged him.

For an instant, Luke faltered uncertainly. Then his hands came up to return the hug, and his eyes closed against the pain.

Brenna went over to her father while Elaan and Timmon were busy tacking the "ride-beast" they had traveled on to get here. She stole a glance at the woman who was her mother, then looked back at her father. "You lied to her," Brenna pointed out quietly.

"I...thought it would be easier for everybody that way. She seems happy here. I can't take that away from her."

"Then why are we going back with them? Why did you accept their invitation? Why aren't we getting back on the shuttle and getting the Hell out of here?"

"She insisted that we accept her invitation. A brother wouldn't refuse, not after traveling this far to find her. Besides, I want to make _sure_ she's happy here."

Brenna shook her head warningly. "It's a mistake. We should be leaving. We should be headed back to our ship right now, not to the house of somebody who can't even remember who we are."

Luke put his hand on her shoulder. Brenna didn't understand now, but maybe she would later. "It won't kill us to spend a couple of days on this world. Besides, if she's _not_ happy, I can always tell her the truth later."

"It's a mistake," Brenna repeated. Then she drew in a deep breath as if preparing to do something distasteful, and said, "It seems I owe you an ap—"

Luke waved her silent as he saw Timmon approach. "Later," he said.

Brenna let her breath out in frustration. She would have preferred to get everything over with, her apologies, this whole business with Elaan and Timmon. She would have preferred to leave.

Timmon had a frozen expression. Without preamble, he looked at Brenna and said to her, "You will ride the beast on the journey back to our farm."

Brenna gave a little laugh. "That's all right," she said. "I'll walk. Someone else can ride."

Timmon's expression became even more ascerbic. It was clear that he considered Brenna to be somehow inferior, but whether it was because of her age or her sex or the simple fact that she was an intruder was unclear, although he seemed to regard Luke with the grudging respect of a well-matched adversary. "I am not accustomed to being refused."

Brenna's face became as hard as Timmon's. She crossed her arms in front of her and said very distinctly, "Well, _I'm_ not accustomed to riding dumb animals. I'll walk, _thank_ you."

"The journey is long. I do not intend to stop and wait for laggards."

Brenna was about to respond with another stubborn reply, when Elaan advanced to the group. She gently but firmly pushed Timmon away. "Forgive my husband," she said, smiling an apology. "All this is very new to Timmon, as it is to me, but it is perhaps hardest on him. The long walk back should help him release some bit more of his worry. I rode most of the way here, and so I am well rested. I might suggest that your father ride, but he looks as if he could use a walk as much as Timmon. Besides, you are the one with child. Therefore, you are the logical one to ride." She smiled. "If one of us grows tired, we will alternate."

Brenna sighed. "I can't ride. I don't know how. I've never ridden an animal before."

Elaan's smile never left her face, despite the surprise that lifted her eyebrows. "Truly? Well, 'tis simply done. Selton is a most gentle beast. All you must do is climb on his back and sit. Timmon or I will lead you."

"Great," Brenna said, in a tone that indicated she thought it was anything _but_ great.

Elaan gestured toward the beast, and Brenna walked with Elaan back to the animal. She waited while the older woman attached some saddlebags to the mount. Then she prepared to set foot in the stirrup and try to swing up on its back. But Elaan put a hand on her arm to restrain her. "He is a gentle beast," Elaan said, "but he does not know you. It would be best if you introduced yourself. Pet him. Talk to him. Like this." Elaan leaned up to the animal's head, reached an arm to the other side of its neck to stroke it, then whispered into its ear. The beast nodded, and she patted it before moving away, still smiling. "See?"

"Right," Brenna said skeptically. She'd caught sight of the tiny breath of air Elaan had breathed into the animal's ear to make it nod. There was no magic there. She went up to the animal's face, patted it twice between the ears, and said without feeling, "Good horsey." Then she turned back to Elaan. "Okay?"

Elaan sighed and held the stirrup while Brenna mounted. Then the older woman took the lead line attached to the animal's halter and started walking to where Luke and Timmon were standing. "Child," she said under her breath, "you have much yet to learn."

.

.

.

The party of four trudged onward. Timmon and Luke walked ahead of the others. Timmon was silent and sullen. Luke walked behind him, just as silent. He periodically glanced behind at the two women. Sometimes he looked at Brenna, sometimes at Elaan, and when the lump in his throat threatened to choke him, he turned his eyes forward again.

Of the group, Elaan was the only one who talked. She did not talk incessantly, but when the void of silence became too immense, she filled it with an inconsequential comment about the weather, or pointed out some landmark that was nearby, or described the layout of their destination, or pointed out some seemingly interesting plant or animal.

Once, when the men were out of earshot, Brenna leaned forward on the ride-beast and asked, "How did you know that I was pregnant? I didn't think I was showing. Were you sensing it through the Force?"

Elaan tilted her head as she looked back at Brenna. "I do not know of this 'Force' you speak of," she answered. "Sometimes...I just know things. It was not so with you, however. I have had some experience with young women in the village, but you—you are different from them. With you, I observed. When Timmon drew his sword, you placed your hand over your stomach, thus." She demonstrated. "From that, I guessed that you were protecting a child within." She shrugged. "I guessed aright. Do not fear, my niece. Witches are no more evil than anyone else, and I do not read minds. I merely...read the signs, and give them interpretation."

"Witches?"

"Those few with abilities beyond what is typical. It is said by some that witches obtain their power through communing with evil forces, yet those with the gift know that to be untrue. It is simply...that they have a gift that others do not. Once, they were called 'Wizard-born.' It is a name I prefer over 'witches.'"

"Force-sensitives," Brenna said quietly. "Are there many 'wizard-born' on your world?" Force-sensitives were pretty much a rare breed to begin with, and after Darth Vader's campaign to seek out and destroy them, had become even more rare. Brenna wondered vaguely whether her father would try to recruit some from Elaan's world, if they were to be had.

"Not so many," Elaan answered. "Not much more than a handful, I should say. I have actually met one or two genuine wizard-born on travels over the years, though there are many more others who pretend to be wizard-born yet are not."

"Why would anyone want to _pretend_ to be wizard-born?" Brenna wondered.

Elaan laughed. "For the fairs, mostly. It is not uncommon for a band of so-called 'wizards' to travel together to provide entertainments. Yet I would keep a tight hold of my coins when they are near, as coins have a way of disappearing. There is always a healer among them. Charlatans, mostly, but usually harmless. Sometimes you will find one who knows the herb-craft, as I do, but I am no wizard-healer. I have not yet met a genuine wizard-born healer, but there are stories. Stories enough to give welcome to a band of wizard-born when they do pass by, on the chance that one really does have the gift of healing."

Brenna looked down at her hands, which were holding onto the pommel of the saddle. "I had a 'gift' once, if that's what you want to call it. I don't have it anymore."

"Truly? What sort of gift?"

"I could...move things. With my mind, I mean. At least, that's the only thing I was halfway decent at before I lost my powers."

"I have never heard of a wizard-born who could move things in such a manner. Nor have I heard of a wizard-born losing an ability before."

Brenna shrugged. "There's a first time for everything, I guess. But it's better this way."

"Oh? How so?"

Brenna shook her head. "Having a Force-talent is one thing. Using it the right way is another."

"In what way did you use it?"

Brenna knuckles where her hands gripped the saddle turned white as she tightened her grip even further. Her eyes were straight ahead, and every muscle of her body was tensed. "The wrong way," she answered.

"The only wrong way for a wizard-born to use his or her gifts is to deliberately use them to cause harm to another person. I do not believe that you are capable of such malice. Yet if I may offer a word of advice?"

Brenna shrugged. "Go ahead."

"When we are in the open as we are now, and can see that none are nearby, you may speak freely. Within the walls of my home, and in the presence of Timmon or Aren, you may speak freely. Yet among the trees, or among strangers, do not speak of your gifts, whether past or present, or the gifts of those with whom you come into contact. As welcome as wizard-born may be in some villages, there are as many others that fear the wizard-born. There are some who would destroy imagined witches, whether or no one has actually caused harm."

Brenna nodded understanding. Even on this remote world, whatever was different, whatever wasn't understood, was often destroyed. She would not mention witches or 'Wizard-born' or the Force again while she was on the road with Elaan or her family. Unseen ears had a way of hearing things, and she had no intention of bringing down a witch-hunt on Elaan and her family.

.

.

.

It was dusk when they approached the small two-story farmhouse. Aren was drawing water from a pump when he saw them coming, and set the bucket down and ran to meet them. He looked at Luke and Brenna, then at his parents.

"They are...our guests," Timmon explained with grudging politeness.

Elaan was more enthusiastic. She hugged the boy in welcome, then indicated Luke and Brenna with a smiling nod. "Aren, you have brought me my family from my before-time, and you have a new family, as well. This is your uncle and your cousin, my brother and niece."

Aren looked at Luke and Brenna as if he had never seen them before. "Truly?"

Elaan's smile grew. "Truly. I have asked them to stay with us a while, so that I may become reacquainted with them, and so that you may know your relatives on your mother's side." She hugged Aren again and whispered in his ear, "Have no fear, my son. They are not strangers to me, and I trust them."

"Do you trust them with our lives?" Aren whispered back. "For you may have to."

"You worry too much, Aren." She kissed him on his cheek and pulled away. "Now, we must make room for our guests. Take such things as you need to the barn, for we will sleep in the loft for a time. Brenna, you will have Aren's room, and Luke, you will have ours."

"No," Luke stepped forward with a palm upraised. "Brenna and I will sleep in the barn. We have no wish to put you out of your home."

He looked over at Brenna, who had slid off the ride-beast and detached her satchel. She gave her father a concurring nod and looked at Elaan. "The barn's fine with me."

Aren looked at Elaan in something approaching alarm. "Mother—"

She shushed him, then turned back to Luke and Brenna. "Nonsense. You are our guests. We must do what we can to make you comfortable."

Brenna stepped forward. "I don't know about my father, but I would be more comfortable in the barn. I would _prefer_ to stay in the barn. Your world has many sounds that are strange to me, but pleasing. I would like to hear them. I think that I will hear them better in the barn than in the house. Besides—" she glanced at the ride-beast with something akin to amusement. "After all those miles together, I feel like I know him."

Elaan's laugh sounded like light wind-chimes. "And you, Luke. Would you not be more comfortable with a proper roof over your head?"

Luke smiled. "Elaan, if you could remember what I was, you would know that I'm basically a farm-boy through-and-through. I'd feel more at home in a barn than anywhere else. Besides, I've been after Brenna for the two of us to spend some time together. This would give us a chance to talk. It'll be like...camping out, which we haven't done in a long while."

Elaan smiled acceptance. "Very well, then. Aren, fetch some blankets for our guests."

Aren started to protest, but she said, "Hush, now, and do as I bid." Then she turned to her husband and added, "Timmon, will you lend Luke some of your clothes? And I believe I have some things that will fit Brenna. I will see to it as soon as I tend to the beast."

Timmon stepped forward and took the lead-line from Elaan. "I will see to Selton," he said to her, "choose whichever of my clothes you think will fit your brother." He led the animal away, picking up the bucket Aren had set down earlier along the way.

When Aren had gone, Elaan leaned forward to Luke and Brenna, still smiling. "I am delighted that you have agreed to stay," she said. She kissed them both in turn on the cheeks, then followed Aren into the house, leaving them alone together.

"Bren," Luke said, "did you mean that, about the sounds?" He'd been surprised and vaguely pleased that she'd found something that interested her.

She looked at him. "You wanted to sleep in the barn, didn't you?" Then she followed Timmon into the barn to give him a hand with the ride-beast.

Luke didn't have the chance to be alone with Brenna again until some time later. Brenna helped Timmon wipe down and feed the ride-beast, and Luke took over Aren's job of spreading out blankets and pillows and arranging hay in the loft. By the time he was finished, Aren came to tell them that supper was ready and they should go back to the house.

They walked back to the house, and Timmon showed Luke and Brenna where the pitcher and basin were set to wash their hands, as Elaan placed dishes of food on the already set table. Elaan sat down, and motioned for Brenna to do the same. Brenna took the empty seat, caddy-corner from Elaan, and across from her father. The food was passed around quickly, and conversation centered on Luke asking the names of the dishes, and Elaan responding

Luke waited until Timmon and Elaan started to eat, then dug a fork into a pile of some mashed orange vegetable called "fraj" and shoveled it into his mouth. His expression widened in surprise, and he looked at Elaan. "This is delicious," he said.

She smiled. "Thank you."

Timmon spoke around a mouthful of food. "She has always been an excellent cook," he said. Suppertime or just being home seemed to have softened him; there was much less of the surliness he had shown at the inn or on the trail.

"Not _always_," Elaan reminded him.

Timmon smiled at her, then said to Luke, "Mamaan had to spend many hours teaching her."

"Mamaan?" Luke asked.

"Timmon's mother," Elaan replied. "Her name was Sonaay. She died three winters ago. When Timmon found me and took me in, I could remember nothing of how to cook or weave or anything. Sonaay had to start from the very basics. I fear I was a very slow student in all areas save healing herbs."

"You were a botanist before," Luke said, watching her.

Timmon shoveled another forkful of food into his mouth and said, "I suspect Elaan gave mamaan many of the gray hairs that she blamed on me. But I have often wondered. What was Elaan like before? Was she as good a cook then?"

Luke hesitated. Briande had never really cared much for cooking—Brenna never really had, either—yet Elaan seemed to excel in it. It was a change, a difference, but only a minor one. "You were fair," he decided, looking at Elaan. "As long as it was something you made pretty regularly."

Timmon and Aren both erupted in laughter, as if there was some private joke they were sharing. _On the other hand,_ Luke thought, _maybe some things never did change._ Elaan looked sheepish, although there was a sparkle in her eyes that showed she shared in the joke.

Brenna took only a little food, and moved it around on her plate to disguise the fact that she wasn't really eating. The only thing she really ingested was water, and used it to surreptitiously wash down a supplement tablet she had palmed.

Luke finished off his orange vegetable, and helped himself to another serving. "I was wondering," he said, shaking the spoon over his plate to deposit the mound, then offering to spoon some onto Brenna's plate until she shook her head. "I was wondering what kind of crops you grew, grains, greens, legumes, what exactly?"

"Wheat, mostly. Some barley. And hay for the animals, of course."

"And what do you rotate with?"

"Rotate?"

Before Luke could explain further, Elaan asked quietly, "Brenna, my niece, are you ill?"

"What?" Brenna said, momentarily taken aback.

"You do not eat," Elaan replied. "Is your stomach uneasy from the journey? I have some teas that will soothe, and I promise they will not harm the child you carry inside."

"No, I—No, thanks. I'm fine. I'm not hungry."

"Yet it has been a long journey for all of us. You must eat, else you will not maintain your strength."

Luke waved his fork over Brenna's plate as he looked at Elaan. "If you can get her to eat," he said, "I will be in your debt."

Brenna smiled indulgently at both of her parents. "I'm not hungry," she repeated.

Elaan reached for the board with the loaf of bread on it. "Of course not. That is only natural. But you must eat, for the sake of the child as well as your own." She sliced off a slab of bread and put it on Brenna's plate. "It will take me but a moment to brew the stomach tea. In the meantime, this will help to ease your body's needs." Elaan opened the crock of butter and lathered a thick layer on the bread.

Brenna shook her head, wondering how much to tell Elaan, whether or not to tell her that the unborn child would not live for many more days. But by that time, hopefully, she and her father would be long gone, and she wasn't feeling particularly up to explaining about the pregnancy termination. So instead she said, "It's not necessary. I have supplement pills to provide all the nutrients I need."

"That little white tablet I saw you take earlier?" Elaan shook here head and finished buttering the bread. Then stood up and went to a cabinet.

Brenna started. She thought she'd been careful not to be seen. Not that it mattered all that much. "Yes, as a matter of fact."

Elaan took out a small pitcher and a metal cup from the cabinet and looked back at the table. "You cannot hope to replace an entire meal with something so small. No, I am convinced that you must eat." She returned to the table, set the cup in front of Brenna, and drizzled syrup from the pitcher on top of the buttered bread.

"I don't want—"

"Your body must be starving by now, and your child with it." Elaan put the small pitcher on the table, picked up the large pitcher already on the table and poured milk from the large pitcher into Brenna's cup to fill it. "Now, drink that. It will only do you good. And eat the bread. You should eat meat and greens and plenty of fruit, but that will suffice for now. It is a bit early for fresh fruit, but I do have preserves that will do almost as well. And tomorrow, when I have time to prepare, I will make sure of a better meal. But we will make do with what we have at the moment."

"But I—"

"Don't be rude," her father admonished. "We're guests."

Reluctantly Brenna picked up the bread and bit off a piece. She was surprised to find that the syrup was sweet, and unlike anything she had ever tasted before, and said as much. Luke touched a finger to a drop that had fallen to her plate and put the finger to his mouth. "Honey," he commented.

"_Real_ honey?" Brenna asked.

Luke ignored the quizzical glances traded between Timmon and Elaan, and nodded. "It's real, all right. Not the synthetic stuff you get through the space-markets."

His words made Elaan frown for a moment. But then she smiled and added, "It is the best cure for a lost appetite. Or—" she looked at Timmon and winked "—a sweet tooth."

"What, Elaan, do I not also collect the stuff?" Timmon replied good-naturedly. Then he turned to Luke. "Aren told us a little of the machines on your world. Do you have machines that will collect honey?"

"Yes," Luke replied. "Although in most cases, the machines actually _make_ the honey."

"And your machines do the farming for you, as well?"

"Yes. There are machines that will plow, and machines that will reap, and other machines that will prepare your crops for market."

"So there are no farmers?"

Luke laughed. "I wouldn't say that. Brenna and I were farmers, back on Tatooine. But I will say that farming is very different here than there."

"If there are machines to do all the work, then what do the farmers do?"

"Oh, there's plenty to keep us busy. Keeping the machines in good repair, for one thing. Deciding what to plant, when to plant, when to sow, that sort of thing. Making sure a herd of banthas doesn't tromp through your fields. Right, Bren?"

"Sure," Brenna said, noncommittally.

In between bites of food, Luke explained what farming was like on Tatooine, and how the biggest problem was getting enough water out of the atmosphere to grow anything. Timmon and Aren listened with disbelief. Aren even commented once that if he hadn't seen some of the machines with his own eyes, he would be certain that Luke was telling a story. After the food was eaten, Timmon declared that it was Aren's bedtime, and sent the boy up to bed. A short while later, he announced that he was tired from the journey, and went upstairs to his own bed. Brenna seized on the excuse to avoid being alone with her parents and left for the barn, leaving Luke and Elaan alone together in the kitchen.

"She is a lovely girl," Elaan commented.

Luke smiled. "Fortunately, she takes after her mother in the looks department. Her stubbornness she gets from me."

"Tell me about her, Brenna's mother."

Luke shrugged, choosing his words carefully. "There's not much to tell. We lost her a long time ago. Brenna's been without a mother for as long as she can remember. In fact, I was hoping you could be something of a maternal influence. She could use a mother right now."

"Oh?" Elaan asked, frowning.

"She's…been through a lot," Luke replied. "Unfortunately, I have made a few enemies in my lifetime. One of them kidnapped her from the school she was attending. But she won't talk about it. Not to me, not to Rupert—her fiancé, that is—not to her doctor. It's not good for her to hold it all in like that. You can see that she doesn't eat properly, and she runs herself ragged when she should be resting. In fact, that's one reason I accepted your invitation. You may be the only person who can help her."

"I? What can I do?"

"You're a woman. Maybe what she needs is another woman to talk to."

"If she will not speak to you, her father—"

"I know. I promise not to expect any major miracles. But you've already accomplished a minor one tonight, by getting her to eat. Please, will you help me? By helping Brenna?"

"I shall do what I can, of course. But _I_ was not the one who convinced her to eat."

"What do you mean?"

Elaan looked at him. "_You_ were. When you told her not to be rude."

Luke thought about that for a moment, then conceded, "Maybe. But I have the feeling that being here will do her a lot of good. Aren told me that you are a healer. I'm asking you to do what you can to heal Brenna."

"I know something of the herb-craft. That is all. The manner of healing of which you speak is a different art."

"Will you at least try? I haven't got any other alternatives."

"As I said, I will do what I can. But I do not know how much good that will be."

"Anything you can do for her, I'll appreciate. I, uh, I'd better be getting to the barn. As a child, she was always terrified of the dark, and in her present state, I don't want to leave her too long by herself." He rose to his feet, and Elaan stood up with him. He kissed her on her cheek, a brotherly kiss, but his lips lingered there just an instant longer, perhaps, than a brother's should. But when he pulled away, he was smiling brightly. "Good night, Brie—Elaan. Deities, but it's good to see you again."

"Good night, Luke," Elaan replied. "Sleep well."

"You, too."

"Let me know if you need anything."

"I will. Oh—there is one thing I could use. Do you have a lamp of any sort?"

"A lantern? Will that do?"

"Anything will be fine."

Luke entered the barn, carrying the lantern he had borrowed from Elaan, and climbed the loft.

Brenna was already wrapped in her bedroll, in a cocoon despite the warmth of the evening. Luke left the lantern on only long enough to set out a lamp he'd packed, then blew it out and stretched out on his bedroll.

Brenna rolled over, then reached for the lamp switch to turn it off.

"Don't you want that on?" her father asked.

"On this world? No, thank you. If someone from the outside sees a steady light coming from the barn, it might start talk about witches living here. "

"It's highly unlikely that anyone would see the light from that lamp."

"Unlikely, but still possible. I'm not willing take that risk."

"What about the lantern, then?"

"And risk setting the barn on fire? No, thank you. I'd rather just manage in the dark. I can, you know."

"I know. I just thought...it might be easier."

"I don't need it."

They lay side by side in the darkness for a few minutes. Luke found the blackness comfortable, like a familiar friend, but worried that Brenna wasn't quite so comfortable with it.

"Dad?" Brenna said after a moment.

"You want the light back on?" Luke started to reach over for it.

"No. I just wanted to say that I owe you an apology. You really did believe that she was dead. In a sense, I guess she is. I'm sorry I doubted your word. I'm sorry, too, for breaking your holo-cube."

In the darkness, she couldn't see her father shake his head, but she could hear his words, even if she didn't understand them entirely. "No, Bren. _I'm_ the one who needs to apologize. If I hadn't given up so easily, we'd still be together. The three of us, I mean. And as for the holo-cube, it was yours, to do with as you pleased."

"What do you mean, 'given up so easily'?"

She hadn't really expected an answer, but she got one. "I didn't listen," Luke said. "When you were little, you kept saying 'There's something wrong with Mommy.' Not 'Mommy's dead' or 'Mommy's gone,' but 'There's something wrong with Mommy.' I just assumed it was the grief of a three-year-old who didn't know how else to express what she was feeling. You kept saying it over and over again. It broke my heart, and…" Luke's voice trailed off, and he swallowed. "Well, if I'd been paying better attention, maybe things would have turned out differently. For all of us."

Brenna turned to her side, propped her head up with her hand and elbow, and stared into the darkness where her father was. Then she repeated what she'd told Luke twice before back at the inn. "It's a mistake for us to be here."

"Maybe," Luke answered, conceding no more than that.

"So what are you going to do?"

"Do?" Luke responded. "I'm not going to 'do' anything, except get some sleep tonight."

"And tomorrow?"

"Maybe do a few chores. It looks like they could use an extra pair of hands around this place."

"Then why are we here? If you're not going to 'do' anything except chores, I mean."

Luke smiled in the dark. Since arriving on this world, Brenna had called him 'Dad' twice, and had actually eaten solid food. Doubtless she was unaware of those tiny facts herself. They indicated only a small improvement, but an improvement nonetheless. "Because I'm hoping that _you_ will do something."

"What's that?"

"Get to know Elaan."

Now Brenna did roll over and turn the lamp back on. "Come again?"

Luke propped himself up on his elbow to look at her. "The reason I gave you the holo-cube in the first place was because I wanted to give you something of your mother, and that was all I had. Now there's a real live person, much better than a holo-cube. When you were young, you asked me so many questions about her, and I couldn't answer them. Well, now you've got the chance to find the answers for yourself."

"The questions don't matter any more. She's not the same person. She doesn't have the same name. She doesn't even know who we are."

"She _is_ the same person. Everything that made her who she was, her personality, her soul—they're still there."

"Except her memories. That makes her _not _the same person. She's my genetic mother, but that's all. And in case you haven't noticed, I stopped asking those questions a long time ago."

"You'll never have this chance again, Bren."

"I'm aware of that. But I only agreed to come here because of _you_. Not because of her. I don't care about who she is any more."

"Well, if _you_ don't care any more, would you do it for _my_ sake? As a favor?"

Brenna frowned. "How would my getting to know Elaan be a favor to you?"

Luke sought an excuse. "Because...then you might be able to convince me that she really is happy in this life, and that this is the best place for her to be."

"And you _want_ that?"

"I want the truth," Luke said quietly.

Brenna thought for a moment, then nodded. "All right, Father. I'll do it for you...and the truth. But tell me something. If the truth is such a wonderful thing, why didn't you tell _her_ the truth? Why did you lie to her about being her brother?"

The question hung in the air between them, like an invisible barrier fortified by her addressing him as 'Father' again. Luke couldn't answer. Finally, Brenna turned the lamp off, lay down, turned away, and pretended to go to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**The Face in the Shadows**

**Chapter Six**

Brenna sat cross-legged in the clearing, lost in thought as the constant noise of the stream running by drowned out the rest of the world. She had mucked out all the stalls in the barn and was looking for something else to do, but her father insisted that she go for a walk and "enjoy the sunshine." The truth was, she'd rather be mucking out stalls, because then she only had to think about what she was doing in the moment.

Her mind drifted to Rupert, and dwelled there. She was making him miserable, the same way she'd always made her father miserable, and she didn't know how to stop. If she left him, he wouldn't be any better off, not after what she'd done to him. She'd given him no choice. _A creature-empath mates for life..._ The words haunted her even here. Rupert was trapped, and she didn't like having that kind of power over him. Yet whether she stayed or left, it made no difference. They were _both_ trapped. And it was her own fault. If she'd just realized…

Brenna sighed. Her mind was going around in circles again. It couldn't seem to stop. Well, when she got back, she'd try her best to please Rupert, both in bed and out. There was nothing else she could do.

"Am I intruding?"

The sound of Elaan's voice startled her, but it was a welcome relief from the path down which her thoughts were leading her. "No, of course not. It's your home, after all."

Elaan set a small wooden box down on a rock and arranged her skirts to sit on the ground beside Brenna, and Brenna indicated the box. "What's that?"

"My flute," Elaan replied, smiling. "I come up here sometimes to practice, so I don't annoy Timmon or Aren every time I hit a sour note."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Brenna said, rising. She mentally added one more person to the list of people whose lives she was successfully sabotaging. "You wanted to be alone."

"No, please stay. If I wanted to be alone, I would have gone elsewhere when I saw you."

Elaan's words caused her to hesitate. There was a sincerity in them, a genuine wish to _be_ with her that Brenna hungered to hear. _What the Hell,_ Brenna thought. _I'm supposed to get to know her. _She sat down again.

"It is not often I can enjoy the company of someone besides Timmon and Aren," Elaan said.

"I'm afraid there's not much to enjoy," Brenna said, covering the truth of her statement with a smile.

"Oh, but there _is_," Elaan replied. "It is very strange, but...I feel close to you, somehow. I feel like I have always known you, and yet I really know nothing about you."

"Count yourself lucky," Brenna told her, giving another false smile.

Elaan didn't return the smile. Instead, she asked, "Why do you belittle yourself?"

"It was a joke."

"I see. Well, then, I fear that off-world humor escapes me."

"Don't worry. It wasn't all that funny."

Elaan looked around the clearing, and changed the subject. "This is one of my favorite places," she murmured.

"I can see why," Brenna replied. "It's lovely here. I've never seen anything so beautiful before, except in pictures or holos."

"But there are many such places."

"On your world, perhaps. Not on mine."

Elaan settled herself turned to Brenna. "Tell me about your world."

"Which one? The one where I grew up, or the one I plan to live on?"

"Both."

Brenna shrugged. "They're similar, in many ways. They're both barren, desolate places. Tatooine's a lot drier, of course. And hotter. You heard Dad tell a little about it last night. That's where I grew up. It's got two suns, and there's just barely enough water to support a few cities, maybe raise some crops here and there, if you can yank enough moisture out of the atmosphere. Most of it's desert, with a few rock mountain ranges. A few life forms scattered around, most of them dangerous, all of them struggling just to survive. The land is very harsh and unforgiving."

"And the other?"

"Just as stark, though not as hot and dry. The air outside is breathable, and there are seasons of a sort, even a few bodies of water here and there, but no life. Everything native to Croyus Four was killed off in wars. At one time, the planet was supposed to have looked very much like this one, but that was long before I was born. Now, for life to exist there, food and shelter have to be brought in."

Elaan frowned thoughtfully. The name 'Tatooine' hadn't meant anything to her, but the name 'Croyus Four' seemed vaguely familiar.

Brenna sighed and went on, oblivious to Elaan's reaction. "It's possible to reclaim the land, plant trees and introduce other life forms, but the process is very expensive. Nobody else has done it, and I certainly don't have the money to."

Elaan shook off the almost-memory. "If it is so desolate, why would you want to live there?"

Brenna shrugged. "It's got buildings and other facilities already established. And for what I want, its location would be just about perfect." She shook her head. "I don't know why I'm going on about this. I haven't got a prayer of getting the money I'd need to renovate."

"Is this for the rescue center your father mentioned?"

Brenna glanced at her. "You know about that?"

"Your father told me a little. He said he was very proud of you for wanting to do so much."

Brenna blinked. "He did?" For an instant, her defenses lowered.

"Yes."

"What else did he say?"

"He said that…while the cause is worthy, he is worried that you may be taking too much on yourself in its implementation."

There it was again, her inadequacies hitting her in the face. "He doesn't think I can handle it?" Her tone made it clear that she _would_ handle it. She'd handle it if it killed her.

"That was not his meaning," Elaan replied. "He just thought...you were putting a lot of pressure on yourself, especially after your recent experiences."

Brenna realized that she was showing more of herself than she wanted, and put on a mask of non-emotion. "I can handle it," she said matter-of-factly.

"He did not imply that you could not. He was just...concerned for your well-being." Elaan's words slipped in through a section of the wall she hadn't yet fortified. But somehow, they seemed more like the words of a friend rather than an enemy.

Brenna decided she'd better change the subject, before Elaan gained access to all the secret places of her soul. She looked for something to say, and her eyes landed on the flute case. "Won't you play something?"

Elaan chuckled. "Only if you can stand to hear," she said. Then she looked around the clearing. "But not here." She rose to her feet and held a hand out to help Brenna up. "Come."

Brenna could see no reason not to, so she allowed herself to be pulled up. "Where are we going?"

"You will see," Elaan said, eyes sparkling.

Brenna frowned. There was no danger in those dancing eyes, yet she felt as if she was losing something, as if something was slipping away from her, but it didn't seem to be anything important.

She didn't realize that what she had lost was a tiny piece of the weight she'd been carrying.

Elaan took Brenna higher up the mountain to a small, gently sloping meadow. It was much quieter here than in the clearing with the stream. The birds were further away, and there was no water rushing nearby. Still, when Elaan stopped and spread her arms in a triumphant gesture, Brenna was confused.

"I don't see what's so spe—" she began, then caught her breath. The hills carried her voice back to her in a resonant echo.

"Exactly," Elaan said in a voice quiet enough not to carry. The smile never left her face. She motioned for Brenna to sit down and opened her flute case. The instrument was wooden, segmented into pieces, obviously hand-carved. When Elaan put the pieces together, they fit perfectly, testifying to the craftsmanship of the carver. She left the case on the grass, faced away from Brenna, seemed to consider something for a moment, then blew across the mouth-hole to produce a single, pure tone. The note held, then blended into another, and another, until the notes became a melody, sad and sweet. The tempo borrowed and gave, reluctant to give up the past, yet moving inexorably into the future. It was beautiful.

When the last note faded and died and the echo faded as well, Brenna was genuinely sorry that there was no more. "That was...lovely," Brenna said quietly.

"I have always liked that one," Elaan admitted. "Ever since I first heard Sonaay play it."

"Timmon's mother, right?"

"Yes. Without her, I would have been useless here. I knew nothing when Timmon found me. Sonaay taught me most of what I know."

"You loved her," Brenna observed.

Elaan smiled, a little sadly. "Yes. She was a good woman. Very patient and kind. She became...like a mother to myself as well as to Timmon. I still miss her."

The silence that followed made Brenna uncomfortable, and after a moment, she said, "Play something else, won't you?"

Elaan played a cheerful piece that she told Brenna afterwards was called "Harvest Jig." After that she played something called "Spring Airs," and then "The Feast of Fools." They were all light tunes, full of laughter and promise. Brenna found herself momentarily forgetting her life and losing herself temporarily in the music. She almost smiled.

Then Elaan played a few imitations of birdsongs, and spent a little time pretending to tease a bird in the distance, though Brenna didn't really think the bird's singing was a response to the flute, more likely to another bird somewhere further off that they couldn't hear.

"Play another song," Brenna said, when she was done.

"Very well. Let me see..." She thought for a moment, then exclaimed, "Oh, I know! I should have played this one first! You may even know it. I call it my humming song, because I do not know the words, yet I am certain it has words." Elaan raised the flute to her mouth, took a breath, then blue a couple of grace notes before the down-beat note.

It didn't happen on the first note, or even the second. But around the fifth or sixth note, about the same time as it might take for one to recognize the melody to be in a slow 3/4 waltz time, something inside Brenna went shock-still, and then shattered, like an arrow penetrating a fragile crystal shell that had formed around her heart, leaving a smashed place where it had entered, and fractures over the rest of the surface.

The melody was very simple. It wasn't particularly sad or uplifting, just a plain, folksy tune.

Yet inexplicably, it cut right through Brenna's shell and into her essence. The sound stabbed her in the core of her being. The music was familiar to her on some unconscious level, but she couldn't really place it.

The song seemed to become as much a part of Brenna as the air she breathed. It wasn't particularly sad or lonely, but it seemed to be crying for the loss of joys half-remembered.

She closed her eyes against it, but the music penetrated the innermost part of her soul and refused to be shut out.

The music stirred vague memories. It made her want to cry. There was a profound sense of loss that she couldn't explain, not justified by the tone of the melody. What _was_ it?

The longer the song continued, the less Brenna could stand it. It pierced right through her, stabbing deeper into her soul with each note. Finally, she could stand it no longer. She was losing control, she was losing...

Abruptly she stood up, and Elaan stopped playing. Brenna couldn't see. She wiped at her eyes and discovered she was crying. Shame mingled with the tears the music caused her, one pain mixing with another, and she turned away.

"I'm sorry," Brenna said, avoiding her mother's gaze. "You play beautifully. I'm sorry. I'm..." She couldn't finish. She turned and fled.

.

.

.

Brenna ran all the way back to the farmyard. She ran into the barn and shut the door, then leaned against it for a moment, squeezing her eyes shut and breathing hard.

"Bren?"

She opened her eyes to see her father looking at her. He was in the empty stall, working on a makeshift table with a makeshift spindle, repairing a wheel that he had said at breakfast he would like to try his hand at, if Timmon and Elaan didn't mind.

"Are you all right?" Luke asked, coming around the table.

Brenna took a deep breath and pushed herself away from the door. "I'm fine."

Luke tried to turn her face towards the light, but she pulled away. "You don't look fine."

"I am. Really. What are you doing in here?"

Luke waved a hand towards the wheel on the spindle. "Trying to keep busy while staying out of everyone's way."

Brenna squared her shoulders and turned to face her father. "It's a mistake for us to be here."

"You've said that before."

"And I'm saying it again. It's a mistake."

Luke studied her. "What happened?"

"She..."

"Yes?"

Brenna closed her eyes, knowing how it would sound, even to herself. She imagined herself saying, "She played the flute," and imagined her father's mock expression of shock and outrage as he repeated, "She played the _flute_?" Even if he had been there, he wouldn't have understood. So she shook her head and mumbled instead, "Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing," Brenna repeated. "It's just a mistake for us to be here, that's all." She turned away from Luke, opened the door, and fled from her father as well, but at a pace deceptive enough to look like she was just walking away.

.

.

.

Aren found Brenna and informed her that it was time for dinner. Brenna washed up at the basin, and took her seat. She felt her father's eyes on her and decided to get what she had to do over with as quickly as possible.

As soon as Elaan sat down, and the others began to eat, Brenna said stiffly, "Elaan, I must apologize for my behavior this afternoon. My actions were inexcusable. Please forgive me."

"What did she do?" Aren wanted to know, speaking with a full mouth.

"That is not your concern," his mother said, then turned to Brenna and said gently, "When music touches the soul, there is no need to apologize."

"But I—"

"Hush, now. I will hear no more of it."

Luke studied them both with some curiosity, but Brenna saw him and fell silent, biting her lip. Elaan changed the subject, distracting Luke for Brenna's sake. "Tomorrow, Luke, I must show you the old place, where we used to live. It is a long walk, but a pleasant one."

Timmon picked up his fork. "And I wonder if you would tell me more about this…'crop rotation.'"

Having been introduced to the concept of crop rotation, Timmon was eager to learn more, and he and Luke discussed the various advantages and disadvantages of rotating this crop versus that crop in a particular field after another crop had been grown there. Several times Luke had tried to turn the conversation over to Brenna, who was nearly as well versed in the subject as he was, but each time she deferred back to him. She countered that she had never been as good a farmer as her father, or that she had slept through that particular lesson in school. Luke was pleased to note, however, that Brenna ate all her bread and drank all her milk.

Luke was about to embark on a treatise on simple crop hybridization, when he saw that Brenna's expression had suddenly changed to one he couldn't read.

And then she said quietly, "I hear weapons."

The ensuing silence and shock lasted just an instant. Then there was the sound of scraping chairs as Timmon, Elaan, and Aren rose from their seats as a unit. "Aren—" said Timmon, pointing to something in the next room and moving toward the window. Aren was already crossing the threshold to the next room, Timmon was already starting to close the shutters, and Luke began to think that their movements were too choreographed, too practiced, for them to be strangers to the idea of weapons sounding in the distance. Then Elaan held up a staying hand and said, "Hold."

Instantly, Timmon and Aren froze. Luke and Brenna had risen, and Brenna was about to ask what she could do to help. Luke knew that his lightsaber was useless unless at relatively close quarters, and he was about to ask where the safest place to send Aren and Brenna would be, but likewise stopped in mid-syllable.

After a span of a few seconds, there was a faint rumble in the distance.

"There," Brenna said. "It's closer."

Timmon and Elaan exchanged looks that were a mixture of relief and amusement. Then Elaan smiled and turned to Brenna. "That was no weapon. Thunder is more like."

Timmon shook his head and returned to his seat. Aren rolled his eyes and uttered an expletive that earned him a sharp rebuke from his mother.

"_Thunder_?" Brenna asked. She closed her eyes. "I'm sorry. It sounded like a weapon."

Luke held her chair for her. "It's okay, Bren. Don't worry about it." He lifted his gaze to the rest of the group and gave an apologetic shrug. "She's never heard thunder before," he explained.

"I'm sorry," Brenna repeated. She dropped into her seat and covered her eyes. "That was incredibly stupid."

Elaan laughed. "If one has never heard thunder before, it would be quite natural to assume the sound to be made by a weapon."

"How can one never have heard thunder before?" Aren asked with equal amounts of incredulity and sarcasm. "How can someone with machines that do everything never have heard thunder before?"

His mother shot him a stern glance that held a warning, but her words were light and airy. "Why, by having lived in a place where thunderstorms do not occur, of course." She went to the window and looked up at the sky, where the stars were still visible, but probably wouldn't be for very long. "I expect we shall see a deal of rain before this night is over."

"Rain?" Brenna echoed quietly.

"It usually follows thunder," Aren pointed out dryly. "And then there is lightning. Which usually comes _before_ thunder."

Brenna put her napkin on the table and looked at Elaan. "May I be excused?" she asked. "I'd—Actually, I'd like to see the rain. And the lightning."

Aren gave a snort, which earned him reproving looks from both his parents.

"By all means," Elaan said, with a gentler expression towards Brenna.

Brenna scooted her chair back from the table and stood. It wasn't until the door to the house had closed behind her that Luke made a sudden decision. "You know," he said, "I'd like to see the rain, too." He didn't wait for permission, which he hadn't asked for, but rose from the table and followed Brenna out the door.

Timmon rose, too. "I had best get the animals in before the storm starts," he said.

"And _I_," said Aren, reaching for the bread board, "am going to finish eating."

Elaan pushed the bread back out of his reach. "Help your father," she said, "and then you may finish eating."

Aren gave her a disgusted look, but did not argue.

As Aren went to join his father, Elaan went to the window and parted the curtains to look outside. Already in the yard, Aren turned to look back towards the window and saw his mother gazing out of it, looking not at him, or at Timmon, but towards Brenna, and Luke.

Elaan was not the only one with powers of observation. Aren had acquired them, too. The boy's expression darkened, and he went off towards the barn wearing a scowl.

After a few moments, Elaan turned away from the window, took a large pot from the hook on the wall near the stove and went to the pump.

Brenna was standing some distance from the house, turned to face it, in the direction from which the storm was approaching. Outside, the thunder was somewhat louder than it had been in the house, more audible.

She glanced at Luke when he joined her, then looked back at the sky. "I can't believe I was such an idiot," she murmured.

"No harm done." Luke put an arm around her shoulder and looked into the distance, where brief streaks of light lit up the sky in the distance. "Been some time since I've seen a good thunderstorm."

Brenna looked around at the nearby trees, where the leaves were beginning to rustle. "Wind's picking up."

"Yes," Luke agreed.

She heard Aren whistling to the ride-beast, turned, and saw Timmon and Aren rounding up the animals. "We should give them a hand," she said, starting to move away.

Luke tightened his arm around her shoulders to keep her where she was. "They've brought in the animals a million times before," he told her. "They can manage without us."

Brenna fell silent. As the storm drew nearer, the rustling grew louder, and the temperature began to drop a little. There was something about the way excitement seemed to be building, in the ground, in the trees, in the very air, that made her forget about everything but the experience of her first rainstorm. The bushes, the leaves, the branches, the tiniest plants were waving to the clouds in anticipation of receiving that basic liquid from which nearly all life had sprung, and which nearly all life required for continued existence.

Timmon and Aren finished their chore and returned to the house.

"Sorry I embarrassed you," Brenna said at length.

"You didn't embarrass me," Luke said. After a moment he added, "You've got good ears. I didn't hear anything. Not until everyone else did."

Brenna rolled her eyes, remembering. "Weapons," she muttered. "Who would have weapons of that caliber _here_?"

Somebody did, apparently. Luke remembered the speed and the practiced motion with which Elaan, Timmon, and Aren had begun to move. Aloud, he said, "Don't worry about it, Bren. It was an honest mistake. You've never heard thunder before."

"But I have," she insisted.

"Where?" Luke asked. "The Academy is domed, and I don't remember Coruscant having any thunderstorms while we were there, and the weather on Dagobah was unusually mild."

"On the tri-dees," Brenna replied.

"Not the same thing," Luke answered. "The tri-dees aren't real. They're sound-effects for the most part, and all of it's edited. Besides, you don't get rain on the tri-dees."

They were silent for a few more minutes. Suddenly there was flash of light followed by a loud _Crack_! That caused Brenna to catch her breath.

"That was a good one," Luke agreed.

After another few minutes, Brenna noticed something else. "What's that smell?" she asked.

"Ozone," Luke told her.

"Oh." Ozone. She should have known it was ozone. She'd read once about how ozone was associated with lightning storms. It was stupid not to remember.

But the clouds of the approaching storm overshadowed even that thought. Brenna inhaled deeply of the ozone-laden air, trying to hold it in memory in a way that she'd never be able to hold it in her lungs. She very nearly closed her eyes, but didn't want to miss a single instant of the light show.

The stars directly above them were completely covered by clouds by now.

"Did you feel that?" Brenna asked, after a raindrop fell on her cheek.

"Yes," Luke replied. He hadn't felt the exact same raindrop that Brenna had, of course, but he had felt one like it, and another, and another. The excitement of the storm was having an effect on him, as well, and he looked up and grinned at the sky. He hadn't seen a real thunderstorm himself in nearly Brenna's entire lifetime. Even then, the rainstorms on Coruscant were filtered through the tall buildings. There had been rains on Dagobah, of course, but the constant mist had kept much hidden, and there had never been thunder or lightning.

The drops became a sprinkle. Brenna did close her eyes now, and tilted her face towards the sky from which the drops were falling. After a moment, the sprinkle became a rain.

Rain.

It was raining.

Luke was not ignorant of the dangers of lightning, but it seemed to be concentrated mostly to the east, so he did not suggest that they move to a shelter. He released Brenna's shoulder and smoothed back his hair, which was becoming wet throughout, and savored the feel of the cool, sweet droplets of clear water falling on his own face.

Brenna made a tiny sound in her throat. It was the only sound that escaped her. Luke remembered his first rain, back on Dagobah. He had let out a war-whoop and gone splashing through every puddle he could find, kicking up mud and leaving bootprints in soft earth. His antics had earned him an afternoon off from exercises and afterwards a place by the warm fire where he could dry off. Yoda had seemed to understand, though that understanding only seemed to last only through the first storm. Yoda hadn't been quite so lenient during the later storms.

Luke would have understood if Brenna had wanted to yell her head off, fling her clothes away, and roll around naked in the mud. Instead, all she had done was make that one tiny, almost inaudible sound.

But it was enough to tell Luke that there was still something inside her that could respond to the rain. He gave a yell that rivaled his original war-whoop and opened his arms, spreading his body to the falling water similar to the way many of the leaves on the surrounding trees curved upward to hold as much of the moisture as they could. He spun around like that, slowly, as if his turning would encourage more rain.

Inside the house, Elaan had filled her largest cooking pots with water and had set them on the stove. Timmon and Aren had finished eating, and for his earlier rude behavior at the supper table, Aren had been given a lecture about the proper way to treat guests, and sent up to his room.

Elaan paused in clearing the table of dirty dishes and looked out the window.

After a moment, she felt her husband behind her and his hands sliding to her stomach. Timmon rested his chin on her shoulder and followed her gaze to where Luke was still spinning, and Brenna had opened her mouth to try to catch raindrops, to learn what fresh rain tasted like.

"They are either mad, the pair of them," Timmon remarked, "or extremely thirsty."

Elaan laughed and turned so that they were face to face. "Or driven mad by thirst, perhaps." She glanced out the window again, and shook her head. "Their souls are parched. One night of rain will not be enough to replenish what they have lost."

"And you? Is your soul 'parched' as well? Will you return with them, now that you have found them? And found what you lost so many years ago?"

Elaan kissed Timmon on the mouth before replying. "No," she said. "My place is here."

"It is Aren's fear that you will leave with them which causes his rudeness."

"I know," Elaan replied. "But his fears are ungrounded. He will simply have to deal with them. I will not turn Luke and Brenna away, not while they need so much healing yet."

Timmon glanced at the water on the stove coming to a boil. "For them?"

"Save for a cup or two for your tea, yes. The cure for standing too long in the rain is—"

"More water," Timmon finished with a laugh. "I will see to the tub." He turned away.

"Thank you. Plenty of towels, too, if you please."

Timmon stood at the threshold for a moment, then turned back and said, "They saw. Or at least, _he_ did. The girl may not have, but _he_ did. He has been a soldier, and a fighter. He knows that we are not everything we seem."

"He saw," Elaan agreed, "but he does not understand."

"He is a dangerous man."

"Dangerous, perhaps, but not to us. I have seen a little of his heart. He would not betray us. Even if he knew, he would not betray us."

"I hope that you are right."

Elaan shook her head to dismiss her husbands worries. "They are strangers to our ways, Timmon, and wizard-born. I have felt it in him, and she has admitted to having had the gift, as well. I trust them."

"They are also fremmin, and stand to profit greatly at our expense."

"And are we not also fremmin? And is every stop along the Way not manned by fremmin? Besides, what profit from our world could possibly be of any use to them? They who can travel in flying boats, who do not want for food or shelter, and who have machines to do all the work. The luxuries of our world must seem as simple toys to them. I doubt our money would be any use to them beyond a mere curiosity."

Timmon was not convinced. "That may be, but I beg you to be cautious. Even if they themselves are not dangerous, they could bring danger without meaning to by speaking a careless word to the wrong ear."

"Aye. That much is true. We are fairly well alone here, but I shall have to warn them about the Sniffers nonetheless. For their own safety as well as ours."

.

.

.

Eventually, the storm gave up its heaviest gifts, but continued to share the rest of its offerings in a steady downstream. Like Brenna, Luke was thoroughly drenched, but he didn't mind a bit. He was, however, beginning to think they might enjoy the rest of the storm from the relative comfort of the covered front porch rather than the open ground. He was about to suggest the change of venue to Brenna and turned to say as much, when he noticed that despite her still upturned face, she was shivering.

"Sweetheart, you're _cold_," he observed. "Why didn't you say something?"

"I don't care," she said, through chattering teeth.

"_I_ do." He stepped close to her to try to give her some of his body warmth and rubbed her shoulders and back vigorously. "Let's get you inside and dried off."

He started to turn her back towards the house, but she resisted. "Please, just a few more minutes."

"You can have all the minutes you want on the front porch, once we get you dried off." Luke firmly propelled her back to the house. This time, she didn't resist.

From inside the house, Elaan saw them approaching, and met them on the porch. She carried a tray with hot tea, and had already set out a couple of blankets. She set the tea tray down, picked up one of the blankets, and immediately threw it over Brenna's shoulders. Then she picked up the teapot, poured the hot liquid into a cup, and handed it to her. "Drink that," she ordered, "and then go inside. There is a hot bath waiting for you in the parlor. You may soak as long as you like, and need not fear for your privacy. Timmon and Aren are already abed. Do not come back out here until you are good and warm." She opened the door for Brenna and shooed her inside. Brenna nearly protested, but a hot bath did sound marvelous, almost as marvelous as the rainstorm, and she went without argument. Once she was in the house, Elaan turned her attention to Luke and draped a blanket over his shoulders, as well. Then she poured another cup of tea and handed it to him. Finally, she poured one for herself, and led the way to the rocking chairs.

"Thanks," Luke said, indicating the blanket and the tea.

"You are welcome. Was the storm all that you expected?"

"Best storm I've ever seen," Luke said, grinning at her through his dripping beard. "Thanks."

Elaan laughed. "I have nothing to do with the weather."

"No, but you have plenty to do with our being here, and…I'm glad not to have missed Brenna's first rainstorm."

Elaan gazed outside the edge of the porch. "Rainstorms are so commonplace here, I hardly think of them, except for the work that must be done in their wake. They truly are remarkable, are they not?"

"Yes," Luke agreed.

They sat in silence, watching the rain, not needing to talk. At length, Elaan said, "Our world must seem very simple to you."

"'Simple' isn't a bad thing. In fact, I'd say what you've got going here isn't too bad at all." Luke replied.

"Yet…a simple world may contain some complex problems."

"What are you getting at, Elaan?"

"You and I are wizard-born, my brother. I do not know how such a thing is regarded where we come from, but here on this world, what once was honored is now…merely tolerated. Or feared. Outside of Timmon, and myself, and Aren, you should take care of what you say, and to whom. These days, the wizard-born are more feared than revered, and one who is new to our ways, as you and Brenna are, is likely to be viewed with suspicion. Your manner of speech I can explain by saying you are from the far north territories, which none around here are likely to have visited, but other mannerisms may not be so easy to disguise."

Luke smiled. "Brenna already warned me that the 'wizard-born' are sometimes thought of as 'witches.' Don't worry. She and I will try to keep a low profile. We'll take our cue from you if we come into contact with the natives. But tell me. How worried should we be?"

"Not too much, I should think. Since living here, we have yet to have Sniffers find our house. There are no other wizard-born in the village, and only those in the family know that Aren and myself are wizard-born. But do be careful what you say. And to whom."

"Sniffers?" Luke asked.

"Those wizard-born who seek out other wizard-born and betray them to the watchers. The watchers are the ones who fear wizard-born the most. They are fairly well organized, and very dangerous. It is said the Sniffers are paid well and given immunity for their gifts in exchange for their deed. They come so rarely to these parts that I hardly think of them at all. Yet after Aren's experience, we shall be on our guard."

"I don't much like the sound of that. What sort of 'experience' did Aren have?"

"He was being chased by Sniffers when he escaped in the flying boat in which you found him. Never fear. Just as they can sense us, we can sense them, and we know how to deal with them. Aren was, in fact, leading them on a merry chase away from a village where there was a troupe of wizards—and there may actually have been a genuine wizard-born among them!—when he grew careless. For some reason, he and I cannot be sensed by the Sniffers unless it is our desire."

"You're both Shields," Luke explained. "You can hide your Force-presence. I'm not a Shield, though. Is that what you were worried about at dinner? The Sniffers and the Watchers?"

Elaan smiled. "As I said, the Sniffers come rarely to these parts, but they do come."

"If Brenna's and my being here is a probl—"

"No, not at all! I only mean to place you on your guard. I do not seriously believe there is danger, but it would not hurt to keep your awareness open. Brenna, I cannot sense. But you—"

"I'll be careful," Luke promised. "Thanks for the warning."


	7. Chapter 7

**The Face in the Shadows**

**Chapter Seven**

Brenna awakened to the quiet sound of movement below her. She opened her eyes to discover that the sun was up, and her father had left her to oversleep. Muttering an expletive, she rose, adjusted the clothing Elaan had given her the night before, and climbed down the steps of the loft ladder to see Elaan about to milk the animal that the family called by the simple descriptive term of "the milk-beast." It wasn't a very large animal, but it apparently sustained the family of three as far as their milk needs went.

"Good morning," Brenna said.

"Good morning," Elaan replied. "I hope I did not disturb you too much, but my friend here—" she patted the animal "—would have started bellowing before long for want of being emptied. She is very picky about her footing, and usually refuses—loudly, I fear—to go outside when there is mud, so I thought it would be best to go ahead and milk her in here. I did not mean to wake you."

"I didn't mean to oversleep," Brenna responded. "I'll get the stalls while you're doing that."

"There is no need. They were cleaned so well yesterday they hardly need looking after now, and I would not mind the change of pace. If you wish to help, I will leave off the rest of the milking for you. But go eat and wash first. There is a cold breakfast for you in the kitchen. Your father thought you would prefer to sleep longer and eat a cold breakfast than to rise early for a hot one. He and Timmon and Aren are in the field discussing crops and soil, leaving us women to do all the chores. Bring two cups with you when you return, if you please."

Brenna hurried to the house. She didn't mean to eat much breakfast, if any, but the kitchen table was set with a simple meal of bread, butter, honey, and some sort of dried fruit, plenty of everything, and she was hungry. She washed her hands, took a single piece of fruit and a small piece of bread, as thin as she could slice it, spread a thin layer of butter over it, poured a tiny drizzle of honey over it, and ate it. It tasted wonderful, and her stomach cried for more, but she took out a supplement tablet, spooned a dipperful of water into the cup, and washed the pill down. Then she washed her utensils and her hands, put the food away as best she could, picked up the cup she had just washed and one more, and headed back to the barn.

She returned to find bucket and stool abandoned and Elaan busy at work in the stalls. The older woman was humming some song or other, and by all appearances was enjoying her work. "Did you bring the cups?" Elaan asked.

Brenna held them out to her. Elaan motioned for her to put them on a shelf that was nearby. "For later," she said. "Did you see how I did it, or shall I wash up and show you?"

"It didn't look too hard," Brenna said. She sat down, placed the bucket underneath the animal's udder, and squeezed one of the animal's teats.

Nothing happened.

"Nothing's happening," she commented.

Elaan laughed. "Keep trying. It took me forever to fill my first bucket. Use a downward motion, as if squeezing the water from a wet garment." She patted Brenna twice on the shoulder and moved away. "Let me know when your bucket is full. Or the beast is empty. Or you are ready to give up. Whichever occurs first."

Brenna tried again and was rewarded with a tiny bit of milk, hardly even a swallow. As she continued to try to coax the milk out of the animal, she heard Elaan filling the water buckets and hay ricks in the other stalls. Eventually Brenna tried changing her grip, and a nice squirtful of milk shot out, completely missing the cup. She tried again, and this time the milk landed mostly in the bucket, with a satisfying "wooosh." After that, it was easier.

As they worked, Elaan said conversationally, "Your father said that you were up very late watching the rain from the loft."

"I've never seen anything like it."

"He said nearly the same thing, that he had not seen a rainstorm so wondrous in many years." Elaan laughed. "I shall have to try not to take them for granted, or complain when the crops are too well watered."

"Your world is so…beautiful. Green."

"I have nothing to compare it with, but you have arrived during my favorite season. This is our spring, when things thought dead return to life. A little too soon for planting, but it will not be long now. Our summers are hot, but not unbearably so. There is a pond for swimming when the heat is strongest. The harvest is beautiful, too, very colorful, but there is much work to get ready for the winter. The winter is also beautiful, in its own way, but also a bit tedious since the days are short and travel is difficult."

"Why is travel difficult?"

"Because of the snow."

"I've only seen pictures of snow."

"I imagine it must look a lot like the sand of your world."

As they worked, the two women compared their experiences of snow and sand. Elaan mentioned ice-skating, and Brenna tried to describe hover-skating. Elaan tried to describe the woods after a snow, and Brenna tried to describe the vastness of Tatooine desert, neither one with much success.

Elaan looked over the top of the stall. "You have nearly finished. You must have a natural talent for milking. That took far less time than I expected."

Brenna grinned up at her. "I think I've got the hang of it."

The milk-beast baa-ed.

"So does she," Elaan commented. "Very well. Let me wash up, and I will show you the rest."

Elaan went to the pump outside, removed the apron she had put on to clean the stalls, and washed her hands with the soap that was kept there. She returned to the barn a few minutes later, retrieved the two cups Brenna had placed on the shelf, and gave them to Brenna to hold while she took the bucket and poured to fill the cups. "It is the milker's job to taste and make sure the beast has not eaten any sour weed, and when there is more than one milkmaid, it is customary to offer a toast. To what shall we drink?"

"We're neither one of us 'maids,'" Brenna pointed out.

"So be it," Elaan said, holding out her cup. "That shall be our toast. To the pleasures of being un-maid."

Brenna laughed once. "Why not?" She clinked cups.

"Why not, indeed," Elaan replied. She sipped once, then downed the contents.

Brenna sipped at her milk, so warm it was steaming. It was thick and inviting, and she was still hungry, despite the breakfast which, though small, was more than she'd grown accustomed to on Croyus Four. Most of the milk she'd drunk in her life had been synthesized, with the occasional reconstituted stuff her father had obtained from the space-markets whenever he bought supplies. The stuff she'd drunk since arriving here was the first real milk she'd ever tasted. The knowledge that the milk had not been treated commercially to remove possible contaminants worried her vaguely, but not seriously. The milk was delicious. It was impossible to get any fresher than this. She sipped again.

"Drink up, girl," Elaan said. "It is bad luck to sip after one knows the milk is not sour."

Brenna upended her cup in her best imitation of the way Elaan had done it. A little of the milk drizzled down her chin.

"Now _that_," Elaan said approvingly, "is the way to do it. Let us to the house. You may carry the pail, since you are cleaner than I."

The pail, being small, was not very heavy. Elaan showed Brenna how to strain some of the impurities out of the milk by pouring it into the pitcher through a lightweight cloth. The milking pail was then washed and dried and hung in its usual place. That done, Brenna helped Elaan chop wood for the stove. When they were done stacking the wood, Elaan looked around and brushed her hands off. "Well, I am not used to having so much help. With two people, the work is done in half the time. I believe I will practice my flute. Would you like to come with me? I would be glad of the company, and I promise not to play my humming song."

"I'll come," Brenna replied. "And you can play whatever you like."

They returned to the clearing where they had been before, and Elaan took her flute out. "What would you like for me to play? Something you have not heard before?"

"Play your humming song," Brenna said.

"Are you certain?"

Brenna gave a faint smile. "I've been humming it in my head ever since you played it the first time. I promise, I won't run away."

"Very well, then." Elaan raised the flute to her lips, and played the humming song. As promised, Brenna remained where she was, quiet and unmoving. The song washed over her, but did not affect her the same way it had the first time she heard it.

When the song was over, Brenna took a deep breath and let it out again. "You see? I'm fine."

"Yes. But the song touches you still."

Brenna shrugged. "I suppose so."

"Do you know it?"

"No, not really. It just seems…familiar, somehow." At Elaan's expression, she added, "You look disappointed."

"Well, perhaps I am. I was hoping that you would know the words to match the tune. I am certain it has words, yet I do not know what they are. Shall I tell you why I call it my humming song?"

"Please."

Elaan set her flute aside and turned to face Brenna. "When Timmon found me, I was inside that…flying boat. The one in which you found Aren after he escaped from the Sniffers. Oh, I need to tell you about the Sniffers. You are probably immune, but your father—"

"It's okay. My father warned me about them—told me not to talk about the powers I used to have." A wry expression crossed her face as she realized she was doing just that.

"Good. Then I shall continue with the story about my humming song. When Timmon found me, I was barely alive. He swears that I was humming that tune, but I do not remember. He pulled me out of the flying boat, braced my broken limbs, and carried me to his home—a great distance to carry someone, to be sure. He and Sonaay nursed me back to life. They say I did not awaken for some days. But when I did awaken, I remembered nothing from my before-time, save for that tune. In fact, it is what made Sonaay teach me to play the flute, since I begged her to play it over and over again until she could no longer bear it, and finally taught me how to play it myself so she would no longer have to."

Brenna smiled for a fleeting moment as she studied her genetic mother. "Funny," she said. "You're not what I expected."

"Oh? What did you expect?"

"Someone...more like him."

"More like your father, you mean? How?"

"I don't know. Harder, maybe. Not as soft."

Elaan feigned surprise, then looked at herself critically. "I admit I may have put on a few pounds over the years, but..._soft_?"

Something inside Brenna wanted to laugh, but she pushed it down. "That's not what I meant."

Elaan smiled. "I know. But I do not think your father is as hard as all that. He and Timmon are much alike. They are both...crusty on the outside, and soft on the inside—like a good loaf of bread."

Brenna raised an eyebrow at that. "That's the first time I've ever heard my father compared to a loaf of bread."

"But it is a fitting analogy, I think. But what of _you_. Now that we have found each other, I want to know who you are. What would you compare _yourself_ to?"

"I'm actually…a very boring person."

"I doubt that. But aside from the knowledge that you are a quick learner when it comes to chores, I hardly know you. Tell me of yourself."

"There's not much to tell."

"Well, then, if you will not talk of yourself, then tell me of the people who share your life. Your father tells me that you are to be wed soon. What is your young man like?"

"Rupert? He's okay."

When it was clear that no further information was forthcoming, Elaan laughed. "Most young women in your position would be endlessly extolling the virtues of their gentlemen. Is your Rupert handsome?"

Brenna shrugged. "Yeah, sort of. I guess."

"What is his most endearing characteristic?"

Brenna thought for a moment before answering. "My father likes him."

Elaan's smile disappeared. "But what of _you_? What are _your_ feelings for him?"

Brenna shrugged. "I like him, too."

"But do you love him?"

"It doesn't matter."

"I should think it matters a great deal."

"Look, it's complicated, but…Rupert and I don't exactly have a choice in who we marry."

Elaan frowned, studying the younger woman. "Because of the child?"

"If you don't mind, I'd rather not get into that right now. Can we talk about something else?" Brenna suddenly realized that they had been talking about _her_, and her mission was to get to know _Elaan_. Maybe if she just asked directly and returned with the answer to her father, they could get offworld that much sooner. "What about you? Are you happy being married to Timmon?"

Elaan allowed herself to be steered away momentarily, but there was an expression about her eyes that hadn't been there before. "Yes, very happy. Timmon is a good man and a thoughtful husband, and I love him very much. But we were talking about _you_, Brenna. What makes _you_ happy?"

Brenna thought back to the last time she'd felt anything close to happiness, back on Medea, when she'd escaped from the hospital. "It's stupid, really."

"Tell me." Elaan's smile was encouraging.

Brenna sighed. It really _was_ stupid. "Dancing," she said. "I like dancing." She gave a self-deprecating smile. "I told you it was stupid."

"No, not a bit of it. I take joy in playing the flute, and dancing is no more 'stupid' than that. Will you dance for me if I play for you?"

Brenna shook her head. "I don't dance in front of people."

"I am hardly 'people.' I am simply Elaan."

"You'd laugh."

Elaan raised her eyebrows. "You were kind enough not to laugh at my music, and I am certain you have heard far better amongst the stars from which you come. I can name any number who play better than I, who live within the boundaries of the village nearby. Why, even Aren and Timmon are both better musicians than I. I shall endeavor to extend to you the same courtesy you have extended to me, and not laugh. Or if we do laugh, we shall laugh together. It is settled, then. Now, what shall I play?"

Brenna bit her lip, wanting to dance, _needing_ to dance. "You decide."

"Very well." Elaan picked up her flute. "Shall I play the song that speaks to us both?"

"Your humming song?"

Elaan nodded.

"All right." Brenna stood up and moved to the clearing. "Just don't expect too much."

Elaan waited until Brenna nodded that she was ready, then began blowing into her flute to play the two pickup notes that came before the first downbeat.

With the downbeat, Brenna began to move in a slow, simple, impromptu dance that Dion Tallard would have been glad of as an audition piece for the Plith'Dar Dance Troupe. But this was a ballet meant only for the mountains, the trees, and Elaan.

.

.

.

Elaan was a woman on a mission. She was loaded, primed, locked, and launched, and nothing would stop her. Once she acquired her target, she closed on it, in long angry steps like a fighter pilot engaged in one-to-one combat.

"Elaan?" Luke said uncertainly, looking up from the wheel he was still working on.

Now that she was in range, she fired all weapons. First, her flat, open hand connected with its mark.

Luke reached a hand up to the cheek where she had slapped him, dumbfounded.

Next she let loose a barrage of hot, piercing words. "How could you! How could you do that to your own daughter? No wonder the poor child is so unhappy! I thought _ours_ was the barbaric society, but now I see that I was wrong! At least we do not sell and barter our children like commodities at a market!"

Luke was in a state of shock from the surprise attack, but he managed to find his voice. "Elaan, what are you talking about?"

"I am speaking of this pending marriage you arranged for your daughter!"

Luke blinked. "What?"

"All this pretended concern for her well-being! And then to force her into a match she does not want! Even if she _is_ with child, it is a cruel custom, and any father who would impose such a thing on his own child is not welcome in my house!"

Her ammunition spent, Elaan spun around in a strategic withdrawal, but Luke was finally beginning to recover some of his senses and countered her attack. He quickly moved in front of her to block her way. "Are you saying that Brenna does _not_ love Rupert? Did she tell you that?"

"She hinted as much."

"Where is she?"

"And why should I tell you? So you can unleash your anger towards me upon her?"

Luke took her by both arms. "Elaan, I swear to you that I am not forcing Brenna into anything, much less a marriage. I'm not angry at either of you, but there's obviously been a misunderstanding, and I mean to set it right. Where is she?"

Elaan studied the fire in his eyes. There was no anger there, only genuine concern for his daughter. "I saw her last by the bridge. But if you—"

Luke wasn't listening any more. He had released his grip on Elaan's shoulders and was launching himself across the field on full throttle, on a mission of his own.

Brenna was standing on the small foot bridge when Luke found her. She was leaning partway over the railing, staring at the water running below. There were fish in the water. She had never seen fish before.

"Brenna, we have to talk."

She took one look at him, and straightened. "I'm at your disposal, Father."

He wished that she'd stop that, and just call him 'Dad' again.

Luke began pacing, crossing and re-crossing the bridge. Facing armies of enemy soldiers seemed like nothing compared to facing his own daughter. Finally, he stopped and looked at her. "Elaan told me something disturbing. She seems to be under the impression that I'm forcing you to marry Rupert."

Brenna looked at him blankly, in utter bewilderment. "What?"

"Did you tell her that?"

She blinked. "No, of course not." Then sudden comprehension dawned. "Oh."

"What?"

Brenna gave him an apologetic shrug. "She must have misunderstood something I said. I'll go straighten it out immediately."

She started to move away, but Luke took her arm to restrain her. "I'd rather you straightened it out with _me_ first. What, exactly, did you say?"

"I said that...Rupert and I didn't have much choice about who we married. I didn't mean to imply that _you_ were in any way to blame. I'll go clear it up right now."

"I don't care what Elaan thinks; I care what _you_ think. What do you mean, you don't have much choice?"

"Nothing, really. I was just talking."

"Brenna—" Luke said warningly.

She looked at him, with an expression that was unreadable. "I only meant that Rupert is a creature-empath, and I'm his mate. _Life-_mate. You knew that already. What's your problem?"

Luke stood still as stone for a moment, then closed his eyes and rubbed them. "Just answer one question. Do you love Rupert?"

She shook her head, not for a negative answer, but at the futility of the question. "It doesn't matter."

"If you don't love him, don't marry him."

Brenna gave him a tiny laugh. "Just like that?"

"Just like that."

This time, when she shook her head, she meant it in the negative. "I won't destroy him. I owe him too much."

"You don't owe him anything, Bren." Luke ran a hand through his hair. "He swore to me that he wouldn't tell you unless you said yes."

"He didn't break his word. Etan told me."

"Well...we'll just have to call it off."

"No, we won't. I intend to go through with it."

"But if you don't love him—"

"I never said that I didn't."

Luke stopped himself from saying what he was about to say, and looked at her. "_Do_ you?"

It took her a couple of seconds to answer. "I don't know."

Luke let out a deep breath. "At least postpone things until you _do_ know."

Brenna raised her eyebrows. "I know all I need to know. And I _am_ going to marry him. All the arrangements have been made."

"Marry someone you don't even know if you love? Let me ask you something. When did you know about the life-mate business? Before you slept with Rupert, or after?"

"After," she replied. "Of course, after. I never would have done it if I had known before."

Luke shook his head, and then began pacing again. "Brenna, let me clue you in to a few hard, cold facts. First of all, the fact that Rupert is mated to you is _his_ fault, not yours. By not telling you beforehand, he took a gamble. It was _his_ gamble, not yours. And in taking that gamble, he knew that he might lose. It was his choice, his decision. You are in no way obligated to him. He understands that. He should have told you before, but he didn't. That's _his_ fault. That's why I didn't want him tell you until you said 'yes.'"

"What's your problem?" Brenna asked. "I thought you _liked_ Rupert, that you approved of him as a son-in-law."

"That's not the issue!"

"Well, then, what _is_ the issue? What do you want me to do? Go back to the Academy?"

"No! I mean, not unless you want to."

"Look, this is _my_ decision. I'm going into this with both eyes open. When I spoke with Elaan, all I meant was that it's not a perfect galaxy. And the truth is, I'm getting the better end of the deal. At least I _like_ Rupert. He doesn't even get that luxury."

Luke stared at his daughter. This was getting more and more bizarre all the time. He reminded himself that she was still suffering from the stress of her time with Etan Lippa, and struggled to maintain his patience.

He decided to try a different tack, show her the mistake of this marriage from Rupert's point of view. "Brenna, put yourself in Rupert's shoes for a minute. Imagine you're a creature-empath, and you're mated to someone who's staying with you out of pity. _Pity! _So your choices are staying with this person, or celibacy. Which do you choose?"

"I'm not marrying him out of pity."

"Sure sounds like it to me."

She looked away. "I don't expect you to understand."

Luke studied her. "You're right. I don't understand. And neither will Rupert when I tell him."

"Go ahead and tell him, if you want to. But then, I'll tell him that you're mistaken. I'll tell him that I _want_ to marry him, which is the truth, and he'll believe me. He has no reason to believe _you_. All you'd do is create doubts for him. I'm the only one who can make him happy. I _want_ to make him happy. At least I can try." Brenna's eyes locked on her father for a moment, speaking a language that he didn't understand, then turned and walked away, back towards the homestead.


	8. Chapter 8

**The Face in the Shadows**

**Chapter Eight**

Luke paced agitatedly back and forth as Elaan regarded him calmly from her seat on a log from tree that had been felled during an electrical storm. "It didn't used to be like this between us. I mean, we used to be pretty close. Now, it's like we're in two completely separate galaxies. I don't know." He took a breath. "I just don't know what to do. She won't listen to me, to anything I say. I just don't know how to get through to her anymore." He stopped, looking to Elaan for answers.

Elaan continued to regard him. "I agree that Brenna is very unhappy. You say that the two of you were once close. It would seem to me to be only natural in such circumstances for a child to go to a parent for comfort and support, even if the child were no longer a child, but a young woman."

Luke started pacing again. "But she doesn't. She won't. I don't know everything Etan Lippa did to her, but—"

"You have a way," Elaan sighed, "of interrupting before a person is finished. And of blaming everyone but yourself for the distance between you and your daughter. And of walking back and forth in such an annoying fashion when someone tries to talk some sense into you."

Luke stopped again, glanced down at his feet as if surprised that they were attached to him before looking back to Elaan. "Are you saying that she blames _me_ for what Etan Lippa did to her?

"I am _saying_," said Elaan in a tone of annoyance, "that despite the fact that you are asking for advice, you are not listening for the answer."

Luke leaned against a tree. "I'm sorry," he said. "Please, go on."

Elaan nodded approval. "Better. Now, as I recall, it was not Brenna's relationship with this Etan Lippa we were talking about, but her relationship with you. At some point, there was a change in this relationship. Did this change occur before, or after, her time with Etan Lippa?"

Luke thought for a moment, trying to be honest with himself. Brenna's distance while at the Academy, her refusal to rely on him for anything, her refusal to write home... "Before," he admitted.

"Then whatever came between you had nothing to do with Etan Lippa."

"Maybe," he conceded. "But she won't talk to me, she won't listen‑‑‑"

"Forgive me for being blunt, Luke, but perhaps you should consider the possibility that _she_ is not the one who needs to do the listening."

Luke frowned for a moment, reflecting on what she had said. After a moment, he nodded. "Point taken. But how can I listen when she won't talk to me?"

"You assume," Elaan interrupted, "that because you do not hear, she does not speak. When one speaks loudly, as you are doing, it is impossible to hear a whisper. Brenna speaks, although in a whisper. It is often when she uses no words that she speaks the loudest."

Luke considered this answer. "All right," he allowed. "What does she say?"

Elaan smiled and shook her head. "Oh, no," she said. "My telling you what I think will not help you regain the closeness you once had with your daughter. Besides, I might misinterpret the signs again, and then where would we be? I might do you a more serious injury than the last time."

Luke smiled and rubbed his cheek. "You do pack a pretty good wallop. But you weren't that far off the mark. She thinks she doesn't have a choice with Rupert, and she won't listen to reason. But I'd rather have bruised cheeks and a hint on how to get through to her than perfect cheeks and the kind of relationship we have now. So tell me what you think."

"There you go again, trying to make her 'listen to reason' and 'get through to her.' _You_ are the one who needs to do the listening. Besides, if I simply tell you, even if I read the signs correctly, it would do neither one of you a thimble-full of good. What of the next time, or after you leave and I am not there to tell you what I think?"

Luke made a snort that wasn't quite a laugh. "Thank you for reminding me. Briande—I mean, Elaan—I once taught _you_ how to listen to the Force. I guess I've been out of practice for so long listening to other signs, I've forgotten how. Will you teach me now?"

Elaan smiled. "_That_ I will do gladly." She took both of Luke's hands in her own, and pulled him to sit beside her on the log. "Consider when she does use words, not just her words but also her tone. Consider when she is silent. Consider when she meets your eyes, and when she looks away. Let us begin with the words themselves. What did she say to you when you went to her?"

"She said…that she couldn't understand why I was having such a 'problem,' with her engagement to Rupert. She said she thought I _liked_ Rupert—as if _that_ should have anything to do with it!"

"Yet in her view, it has _everything_ to do with it. If you want to listen, Luke, then you must put aside your own opinions and beliefs. Open yourself to her viewpoint. The fact that she is willing to marry someone that _you_ like, whether or no _she_ loves him—does that not suggest anything to you?"

Luke thought about it. He tried not to think about how ridiculous it was that Brenna wasn't even considering what should be the single most important question related to her decision to marry Rupert, and then realized that despite the ridiculousness of the notion, that was precisely what he should be thinking about. He sucked in a breath. "It suggests that what she wants isn't important."

"Precisely," Elaan nodded. "What _she_ wants is not important. Take it a step further. Why not?"

_Why not, indeed?_ Luke wondered. He thought about it for a few minutes but could not come up with an answer. "I don't know," he admitted.

Elaan smiled. "It suggests, first of all, that she does not hate you, as you said earlier. She wants to please you."

"If she wanted to please me, then she wouldn't go through with this marriage."

"Tell me something, Luke. If there was no question but that she loved Rupert, would you approve of him as a son-in-law?"

Luke shrugged. "If she loved him? Sure."

"You like him?"

"Yes, I do."

"Then that would conclude the matter, as far as Brenna is concerned. The young man does not displease you, nor the idea of marriage."

"Believe me, the idea of a loveless marriage displeases me to no end."

"Then perhaps she believes that the disgrace of her being unmarried and with child would displease you more?"

Luke laughed. "Where I come from, marriage doesn't necessarily follow being with child. Besides, she's not planning to keep the baby."

Elaan frowned. "I see. Then I admit my confusion. But she must have liked this young man at least enough to lie with him."

"Well, yes and no."

"What do you mean?"

Luke sighed. "Rupert is a creature-empath. I was training him to—uh—use his wizard-born talents to help defeat Etan Lippa. It was an all-or-nothing kind of thing. Failure would have meant insanity. Mated, Rupert stood a better chance of success. Brenna knew that. But they mate for life. Brenna _didn't_ know _that_ when she slept with him."

Elaan closed her eyes briefly and shook her head. "Poor child. No wonder she thought she had no choice but to marry him."

"But Rupert's sanity is no longer an issue. You don't find it odd that she doesn't at least postpone this marriage, to give herself some time to decide whether it's what she wants?"

"Not in the least. Not given the other signs. I might have misinterpreted the cause, Luke, but not the signs."

"What signs?"

"Well, for one thing, have you not noticed how she defers to you constantly?"

"'Defer'? If Brenna wanted to defer to me, she'd hold off on this whole marriage idea."

Elaan set her chin on her fist. "Yet she does defer, and most of all to you. She did not want to come here, yet she came, in deference to you. At the supper table, when her opinion differs from yours, she remains silent. Her eyes, when you cast yours upon her, immediately look away, usually down. When you offered to help in the barn, so too did she, and immediately took the dirtiest of the chores so that you would not have to do them. At the table, she waits for you to begin eating before she touches her own food, what little she does eat. She never interrupts you. In fact, she hardly speaks at all in your presence unless asked a direct question, and even then, if it is at all possible, she passes the question on to you. She spends time with me only because you asked her. For my part, I do not complain, since I am growing quite fond of her. However, I am well aware that if it were not for your instructions, she would spend all of her time in the barn, doing the most thankless chores that could ever need doing, without ever a whisper of complaint."

Luke stared at Elaan for a moment, absorbing all of what she had said. After a few moments, he asked, "Does she _always_ defer to me?"

"She always _defers_," Elaan corrected. "But most of all, to you. Have you seen anyone to whom she does not defer?"

There was a recent time, though, when Brenna did not defer to Luke: When she first learned that she had a half-brother and that her mother was still alive. She had been angry then, with justification, but that was hardly something Luke could bring up with Elaan. On the other hand, there were a couple of other times when he had seen her lose her temper that he couldn't explain. "I've seen her get angry," he said, "or upset, I should say."

"That is not necessarily the same thing. Right now her emotions are strung like a tight fiddle. Every now and then, if a string is plucked, it will break. But I would gamble money that if a string did break, it would not be long after when she, as the fiddle, would apologize to the player who plucked her, as if it was the fiddle's fault the string broke."

"Like she apologized to you the other day? No bet. What was all that about, by the way?"

"It does not matter. It matters only that she apologized when the fault was mine."

There was someone else, however, that Brenna did not defer to at all, as far as Luke could see. "All right," Luke murmured. "What about Devon Martuk, Brenna's second-in-command back on Medea. She'll lash at him like I've never heard her lash at anyone else."

Elaan turned thoughtful. "Something extraordinary must have happened between them."

"He…disobeyed an order she gave him not to reveal her part in the Croyus Four rescue operations. He _had_ to. Otherwise she'd have been killed by idiots who thought she was in league with Etan Lippa."

"Ah," Elaan nodded knowingly. "That explains it, then, why she raised her voice to him."

"Well, _I_ sure as Hell don't understand why. Why to him, and not to anyone else?"

Elaan spread the fingers of one hand and began ticking off points on it with the index finger of her other hand. "She defers to everyone—well, almost everyone. Given a choice, she takes the nastiest chores for herself. She believes that because this young man Rupert is mated to _her_, she must consequently be mated to _him_, whether or no she loves him. The only time she raises her voice is for an act that causes her reputation—perhaps even her life!—to be rescued." Elaan held up her spread fingers. "All symptoms—" she closed her fist "—of the same illness. I can give this illness a name, but I cannot tell you the cause."

"What name is that?"

"Unworthiness."

"Unworthiness?" Luke didn't understand.

"She defers to others, because she is not worthy of being deferred to. She takes the nastiest chores, because she is not worthy of more pleasant tasks. She must marry this young man Rupert, even though she is not worthy of him, because _he_ has no choice, and therefore _she_ has no choice. Finally, she is not even worthy to live, so naturally she must become angry with one who disobeyed an order and thus saved her life and reputation, as this Devon Martuk did."

"Even though that order came from someone who's not worthy of giving any orders," Luke added, finally catching on. Low self-esteem. He should have seen it earlier.

"Naturally. You see how confusing it can become for her. _You_ were confused, and you are not nearly so unhappy as _she_ is. As for Brenna, she must necessarily struggle to become worthy, even though no matter what she may do, she will _never_ become worthy, not in her own eyes."

Luke put his hands on Elaan's shoulders and slid them down her arms until he had grasped her hands. "Elaan, thank you. That explains a lot of things. Now tell me, what is the cure for her 'illness'?"

"Why, 'tis is easily seen. You must make her feel worthy, of course."

"How? "

Elaan shrugged. "I said that I knew the cure, not that it was easily accomplished. Perhaps you may begin by helping her to see that love is often given without the necessity of the recipient's worthiness. Once she understands that, she may begin to tell you more, perhaps even the cause of her pain. You will have to listen carefully, however. She will speak softly, in whispers. Keep your own voice a whisper, be silent sometimes, and you may hear her."

Luke drew in a breath. "Well," he decided, "a problem defined is half-solved already." He stood up and bent to kiss her on the cheek. "Thank you, Elaan. Your wisdom is beyond measure."

Elaan blinked back up at him. "Why," she remarked, "I have always thought so..."

.

.

.

Elaan entered the barn carrying a basket covered by a cloth. Luke was busy working on the wagon wheel. Brenna was inside one of the stalls, sifting manure and muck out of the bedding.

"I am off to the village to visit a friend," Elaan announced. "It is a warm day, and a pleasant walk. I thought, perhaps, that one of you might keep me company."

"Brenna will," Luke said, then lifted his voice towards the stalls. "Bren?"

Brenna looked out from behind the stall wall. "I haven't finished yet."

Luke waved the excuse away. "I'll do it. Go on." When she hesitated, Luke made another motion. "Go."

She came out of the stall, then, and set her pitchfork aside. Looking at Luke, she said, "Leave it. I'll finish when I get back."

"_I'll_ do it," her father said. "Go. Have a good time."

Brenna brushed her hands on the skirt, and left the barn with Elaan.

"You might wish to wash your hands before we leave," Elaan said, with something like a conspiratorial wink.

Without arguing, Brenna stopped at the pump and ran water over her hands, rubbed them with the bar of soap that was always there, spread some of the foam over her face as well, rinsed off, and dried with the towel that had been set out that morning. Then Elaan led the way towards the path that had first brought them to the homestead. Once they were well away from the house, Elaan said, "I hope you have forgiven me for my misunderstanding before."

"There's nothing to forgive," Brenna said. "It was just a misunderstanding, after all. Nothing to worry about."

"Good," said Elaan, reaching into her basket. "Then perhaps you will accept this as a token of my good faith." She handed Brenna a round dome-shaped cookie or muffin, then reached in the basket to take another one out for herself.

"What's this?" Brenna asked, examining the food.

"Honey cake," said Elaan, around a mouthful of it. She swallowed, then smiled. "I bake them for the children, mainly, but I always make extra, because I never seem to arrive with as many as I leave with."

Brenna took a tentative bite. "It's good," she said.

"Thank you." Elaan took another bite and grinned. "Perhaps not as good as the ones Sonnay used to make, but good nonetheless." She finished off that cake and ate another while Brenna was still working on her first, then sighed contentedly. "I fear I have as much of a sweet tooth as Timmon and Aren." She reached into the basket and pulled out two more. "Do have another one. As I said, there are plenty. And plenty more at the house for our men."

"Is that whole basket filled with them?"

"Honey cakes, and a few medicines. A friend of mine does not fare as well as Timmon and I, but she will not accept charity. She will, however, accept the occasional gift from a friend who comes to call with treats for her children. Aren ran an errand to the village for me yesterday, and he heard that one of her children is ill. I thought it would not hurt to stop by for a neighborly visit."

"What's wrong with the child?" Brenna asked, wondering if she should go back to the barn for her sack and medical supplies.

"Oh, nothing too serious. A cough that time would cure if my medicines did not. I go as much to give Lenoor someone to talk to as for any other reason. And she does her share of listening as well, I warrant."

As they walked on, Elaan continued to talk about the village, giving Brenna the gossip about who was married to whom, who practiced what trade or had what talents, who was likely to leave the village or stay for reasons of marriage or trade, and so on. It was all nothing of consequence, just chatter to fill the void, but Brenna dutifully memorized all the names and associated information anyway. She ate one more honey cake, totaling two to Elaan's six, and steadfastly refused any more.

At last they came to a cluster of buildings somewhat close together, all made out of wood and/or stone. The 'village' was hardly worth the title. It was a cluster of half a dozen houses—'huts' was more descriptive—and a mill, built along either side of the trail that passed for a road. Crude painted wooden signs marked one hut as a blacksmith's shop, another as a shoemaker, and another as a carpenter. Brenna recognized the rudimentary elements of a primitive trade society. There were dirty, dusty children playing in the street, skinny, but not starving.

Elaan headed for the hut marked as belonging to the carpenter, but did not get very far before all the children who had been playing in the street barred the way, begging for treats. Elaan had apparently been expecting this. She distributed a baked confection to each small, grubby hand that was held out to her, and gave hugs just as freely. Then, surrounded by a small sea of urchins, she continued her trek to the carpenter's hut. Brenna followed at a slight distance, and some of the children attached themselves to her by her association with Elaan.

One child rushed to open the door before the group, and announced that "Elaan is here!" Elaan and her band of escorts went inside the dwelling, and some of the children detached themselves from her to attach to the woman who was sitting inside on a rocking chair of the same pattern and design as the two that Elaan had on her front porch. The woman in the chair held a baby that was crying, and a small toddler played at her feet.

"Mother! Elaan is here!"

"She gave us honey cakes!"

"A lady comes with her!"

The mother nodded acknowledgement, handed the baby to one of the older children, then stood up to take Elaan's hands in her own. "Elaan, you are as well come as always." She turned to another of the older children. Denaat, heat some water for tea." She looked at Brenna. "And you have brought a visitor with you. Surely this must be the niece Aren spoke of when I saw him yesterday."

Elaan beamed as she indicated Brenna. "In truth, it is. My brother's daughter, Brenna."

Lenoor took Brenna's hands briefly, the same way she had taken Elaan's. "You are as well come as your aunt. I apologize for the noise—" she took the crying baby back from the older child "—but he is teething and will not be stilled."

"Ah," Elaan said. "I brought something that may help with that." She fished around the bottom of her basket and brought out a small corked vial. "One drop, distilled in few drops of milk, rubbed on the gums."

"I remember," Lenoor said. "Thank you." She held out the baby to Elaan. "Will you take him for a minute?"

Elaan passed the basket to Brenna and took the unhappy child. She jiggled and cooed, trying to calm him, while his mother went to get a small dish in which to dilute the teething medicine. She came back, dipped her little finger in the mixture, and tried to catch the baby's head as he shook it back and forth in protest. Once she got the finger in the baby's mouth and rubbed it on his gums, the volume of the crying lessened, and she took the baby back from Elaan.

Lenoor sighed. "My thanks. I am always glad to see you, of course, but I was nearing the end of my endurance. Your arrival could not have been better timed."

"I am glad I could be of service." Elaan replied.

Lenoor looked around the hut, then at the oldest of the children. "Denaat, will you take the children outside for a bit? I wish to speak with Elaan alone."

The older girl nodded and began shooing all of the children except the toddler and the baby in Lenoor's arms outside.

Lenoor looked at Elaan with a rueful smile. "Danaat is a godsend with the other children, but she will be of marrying age, soon. I do not know what I shall do without her." Lenoor waited until they were gone, then lowered her voice and said, "There is another way in which you could be of service to me, as well. I can pay you what little money I have, and my husband Poolis can also pay in labor."

"What do you need?" Elaan asked.

Lenoor put her hand on her stomach, and her eyes looked up at Elaan imploringly. "I have missed my cycle. I think that there is another child on the way. You said last time that I might not survive another birth. I need you to craft a medicine that will stop this child now, before it comes to that."

Elaan sighed. "I have none, Lenoor. There is an old recipe, but the herbs are so used that they are impossible to find anymore. I wish I could help you, but I cannot."

Lenoor nodded understanding, and held her hand out. "You will stay with me, then, when the time comes?"

Elaan took the hand and squeezed it. "Of course."


	9. Chapter 9

**The Face in the Shadows**

**Chapter Nine**

Brenna heard the faint sounds of laughter, left the washpan and dishes that were still waiting to be washed, and went to look out the window. There were four people approaching, two of them—either girls or young women—had long, thick red hair. They flanked an older couple of a tall, slender woman with white hair, and a huge mountain of a man who had dark hair like Timmon's. The man and woman carried something on their backs.

"You've got company," Brenna commented. Elaan set aside her towel and joined her. Her mouth broadened into a smile as she saw the quartet, and she immediately headed for the outside door.

As soon as she opened the door and stepped outside, the two girls broke away from the man and woman, and ran to meet her. Elaan greeted them with an arm around each one and a kiss on each one's cheek. The girls returned both the hug and the kiss, and the three of them, arms around each other, turned and headed towards the two approaching adults.

Brenna moved to the door and, a little wistfully, watched Elaan and the visitors greet each other. The hugs and kisses that were exchanged indicated that these people were not mere neighbors, but were something closer. Then one of the girls saw Brenna and said something to Elaan, who turned and motioned for Brenna to come and join them. Almost reluctantly, as if her presence would disrupt such a warm and comfortable scene, Brenna left the porch and went over to them.

"So _this_ is the cousin we have heard so little about," the man said, smiling. He had the same dark hair as Timmon and the same color eyes, but none of Timmon's build. He was taller by a head, larger in girth, too, and somewhat older.

"Hello," Brenna said, holding her hand out, wondering about the man's calling her 'cousin.'

"Bah!" said the man, grinning and holding arms wide. "Is that any way to greet your family?"

Brenna, thrown off by the word 'family', wasn't sure how to gracefully decline a Wookiee-hug from someone she didn't know and was about to offer a vague apology when Elaan intervened with a laugh. "It is, where she comes from. You will have to content yourself with a handshake, Doran, and find some other poor soul to squeeze to death."

There was a laughing whisper in her ear, more like a stage-whisper since it appeared meant to be overheard, from one of the red-headed girls. "You must not mind Da. He looks for every opportunity to show off his strength, especially since he lost that wrestling match." The girl took the hand that Brenna had stretched out to the man. "I am Faleen. Welcome, cousin."

"'Cousin'?" Brenna echoed.

Elaan smiled and waved a hand at the group. "This is Timmon's brother, Doran. His wife Kayleen. Their daughters Ranaad and Faleen. Ranaad is the elder."

"Yes, but only by a year," Faleen pointed out.

"But still the elder," Ranaad said, "and I think it is greatly unfair for the younger sister to be wed before me." Ranaad pouted, but her tone of voice was teasing.

"I am not wed yet," Faleen replied. "You yet have time to persuade a handsome young man to become your husband, if you wish to be wed first."

Elaan laughed and hugged Ranaad. "Your turn will come, never fear."

Ranaad's father spoke up. "And unlike your sister, I do hope that you obey your father and find some farmer's son to marry. Preferably a younger son. Hard working, of course. I will need someone to help me on the farm, and take care of me when I grow old, and I have no wish to live in the village as your sister does."

"Yes, well, we have some time to decide what is to be done with you in your old age," Elaan said. "In the meantime, this is my niece, my brother's daughter, by name of Brenna."

"_Bren_-na, not Bre-_naugh_?" Kayleen asked.

"That's right," Brenna asserted.

Doran grunted, "And why should such a pretty little thing carry a boy's name?"

"A boy's name?" Brenna said in some astonishment.

"The strength of your name is at the beginning, rather than the end," Elaan explained. "Here, that is the mark of a masculine name. But you are not from here, of course, and I think your name is lovely, in any case."

"Oh," Brenna said, a little embarrassed at not realizing before that the placement of the accented syllable indicated gender.

"I see that you have brought your instruments with you," Elaan said, indicating the stringed device slung over the man's back, and the packs carried by the women.

"And how else should we have our music?" Kayleen remarked.

"Yes, but before we play, I am near to starved," Doran said.

"I can see that," Elaan said, patting his ample stomach. "Kayleen never feeds you."

"Oh, she feeds me well enough," Doran replied, "But after climbing up the hill to get here, I fear I must replenish my strength."

"Come to the house, then," Elaan said, "and we shall see what we may scrape up, eh?"

Some time later, Luke, Timmon, and Aren had returned to the house, and the group had moved to the front porch. The musical instruments had come out, and a sort of jam-session was taking place. Everyone in the family, it seemed, could play several musical instruments and sing and dance. Sometimes one would pass an instrument to another in order to take a break or change to a different instrument or whatever, and the other seemed to play just as well as the first. The only one who seemed to be limited to just one instrument was Elaan, who seemed to know only the flute, although she often sang when she wasn't playing. If one wasn't playing, then he or she was either singing or dancing. The dancing was what Brenna would have categorized as a 'folk' dance, a very lively, energetic sort of clogging jig that added rhythm to the music when done on the wooden front porch. The foot movements were too fast for her to follow, precisely.

Brenna hung back from the group, watching the dancing and listening to the music and wishing that she could sing or play something whenever she saw her father laughing at the words to some song, or clapping his hands or tapping his toes in time to the music. Sometimes whoever was dancing would invite Brenna to try the step with them, but she politely shook her head 'no' and continued to watch from a distance.

And then, after a song had ended, one of the girls, Faleen, said, "Play your humming song, Elaan."

"I will," Elaan replied, "if Brenna will dance."

Brenna, who had detached herself from the group and the conversation, upon hearing her name was suddenly jolted back. "What?" she asked.

"Dance for us," Elaan said. "I should like to see you dance again, and the others have not seen you dance at all."

"Oh…no," Brenna said, glancing quickly at her father. "I told you before, I don't dance in front of people."

"But you dance so beautifully." Elaan turned to Luke. "Luke, help me persuade your daughter to dance for us."

Luke frowned and looked at Brenna. "I'd like to see you dance," he murmured. Rupert had told him something about a message for Brenna from one of the passengers on his first run to return the Afterlifers to their homeworlds, something like 'never stop dancing.' He had thought the message was figurative. As far as he knew, Brenna hadn't danced in years.

Brenna sucked in her lower lip, and looked at him.

"I'd like to see you dance," he repeated.

Elaan smiled and took her by the arm to pull her to the bare patch of ground in front of the porch. "You dance beautifully," she said encouragingly.

Brenna gave up her protest. Her father's words were like a command to her, even though she wasn't sure exactly why he wanted her to dance. Maybe he wanted to compare her abilities with what he had just seen from the others. Whatever the reason, she would give him her best, and hope it was enough.

Elaan returned to her place and picked up her flute. Kayleen passed the stringed instrument she had recently played to Doran and took the lute-like instrument Ranaad had discarded earlier. Timmon traded his small bongo-type drums for a hammered string instrument which seemed to be his favorite. Faleen kept the other flute she had been playing, and raised it to her lips. Elaan nodded her head as a signal to begin, and the group began playing, the two flutes on the pickup notes and the rest joining in on the downbeat.

Brenna began to dance.

It was about the fifth or sixth note of the song, when Luke suddenly froze in shock. It was much the same reaction Brenna had had when she first heard the song. The only difference was the expression of absolute recognition of the tune and disbelief that he should be hearing it again after so many years, and especially that Elaan should be playing it and Brenna should be dancing to it.

As she proceeded into the middle of a slow turn, Brenna sought out her father to see what he thought of her dance, and saw his expression of shock. She misinterpreted it as disapproval and contemplated whether it would be worse to end her dance now before the music ended, or to continue it to the end. The one was surely as bad as the other. She decided to continue but extended her stretches as far as she could, tried to give each movement absolute control. Once, due to the uneven ground, her balance baubled. She regained it quickly, certain that everyone had noticed.

Faleen was so caught up in watching the dance that she soured a note, and quickly changed to one that didn't jar quite so much in her counterpoint to Elaan's melody.

Brenna irrationally blamed herself for Faleen's bad note. Certain that her dance was an absolute disaster, she wondered whether she shouldn't just stop now. In her mind's eye, she magnified every perceived imperfection and saw herself in her audience's eyes as something ridiculous. She was too stiff, too clumsy, too unpracticed. If she couldn't improve, she decided, this would be her last dance. She would never dance again, not even in the privacy of her bedroom. It was stupid of her to even imagine that she ever _could_ dance. She was making a fool of herself in front of all those people. She was an embarrassment to her father, an idiot who couldn't do anything right.

And just as Brenna couldn't take hearing the song the first time she heard it, neither could Luke. Abruptly, Luke turned and left the group, rounding the corner of the house to find a private place. Brenna saw him go, and froze in mid-movement. Elaan saw her reaction but continued playing to see if she would start again, then stopped when it became obvious that she wouldn't. The other musicians continued for a few notes before they, too, dropped out, and the music died away.

"What—" Kayleen began.

"I guess he did not care for her dance," Aren joked. "It _was_ rather strange."

"Aren!" said his father sharply.

Brenna glanced at the boy. "No," she said. "He's being honest. Excuse me." Without waiting for a response, she followed her father around the corner of the house.

"Should someone go after her?" Kayleen asked Elaan quietly.

"Maybe," Elaan said thoughtfully. "I will go." She waved. "Play something."

"What?"

"Anything."

Luke stood, lost in his own thoughts, in a different place and a different time. The music had taken him on a journey he hadn't made in years and never thought to make again. He never heard the song end, nor the soft footsteps that came up behind him, nor the quiet ragged breath of a preparation before speaking. His eyes were covered with his hands, trying to obscure the memories the song evoked. In fact, he was completely unaware of his daughter's presence until she began to speak.

"I'm sorry, Father," she said.

Maybe it was the word 'Father,' but Luke was jolted back to the present.

"I didn't mean to embarrass you," Brenna went on. "It won't happen again. I promise."

The conviction in her voice made Luke realize there was underlying meaning in her words, and he whirled to face her, pulling his hands from his eyes. "No!" he said.

The violence in his voice startled and frightened her. Brenna took a step backwards. Then she saw the remains of Luke's tears, and her fear mixed with confusion.

Seeing her reaction, Luke tempered his tone and said "No," again, but softly. He stepped into her and wrapped his arms around her, trying to give her all the love he had, but she pulled away, and all he could do was put his hands on her shoulders. "You didn't embarrass me. But that song—Sweetheart, don't you recognize it? No, of course you can't. That was before—I mean, you were so young…"

Brenna faltered, feeling stupid for not knowing the song. "It…seemed familiar to me when she first played it, but…what is it?"

"It's…" A lump stuck in Luke's throat, and he had to pause to clear it. "It's the lullaby she used to sing you to sleep with. How can she remember that song, but not _us_?"

"She…said that she was humming that song when Timmon found her. She can't remember the words. She wanted to know if I knew them."

"Different part of the brain," Luke realized. "Musical memory is in a different part of the brain. Sweet Deities, Bren. When she started playing and you started dancing, I don't know what came over me. It wasn't you, or your dancing. It was that song. Elaan was right. You dance beautifully. Don't ever be ashamed of that."

"But…Miss Bealis, on Tatooine. You made me quit because I wasn't good enough."

"No, Bren." Luke pulled away and looked at her. "That's not it, at all. Etan Lippa would have been looking for someone who stood out in any way. Miss Bealis wanted to put you in a show and take you on a tour. When I refused to let you perform in public, we exchanged words, and she told me that if I didn't let you perform, she wouldn't take you as a student any more. I made you quit because you were _too_ good"

Brenna considered her father's response, wondering whether there was any truth to it. But whether it was or not, it hardly mattered at this point. She had done things that more than negated any positives she might once have accomplished, if indeed she had ever accomplished anything. But his reaction to the song had been a lot like her initial reaction. So even though she was stupid for not remember the song or the words, there was something that they shared, after all. A small connection.

Luke wrapped his arms around her again. This time she didn't move away, but neither did she return the hug. Then, after a moment, Brenna said, "Dad? There's something I think I should tell you."

"Oh?" Luke said, noting that she had called him 'Dad' again.

"I need…to set the record straight between us." Her eyes went to the ground for a moment. Luke waited expectantly. Finally, she took a breath and looked back up. "Back on Medea, you told Dr. Tibbik something that was incorrect. You said I'd been raped by Etan. That's not true."

"Oh?" Luke asked. His thoughts turned instantly from her dancing to the new topic. This was the first time she'd told him anything at all about that time.

Brenna finished by saying, "It was more like...prostitution."

Luke waited for her to go on, but she didn't.

After a moment, she broke eye contact again. "So now you know," she said.

Luke tried to tilt her head back up to re-establish their eye-contact, but she wouldn't look at him. "That's all I have to say," she told him.

"But _I _have something to say." Luke replied.

"I'm not going to apologize for what I did."

"Nor should you. You've done nothing wrong, Bren, but I think we need to talk about it. "

She looked at him a little suspiciously, but allowed him to tilt her chin up.

"Brenna," he said, "you _do_ understand that you're the victim here, don't you?"

"Victim?" she said uncomprehendingly. "I just told you, it wasn't rape."

Luke decided to try a different tact. "In that case, would you mind answering a few questions for me? In the interest of 'setting the record straight,' I mean."

He could almost see the wheels turning inside her head. In the role of 'prostitute' in which she had cast herself, would she mind? No, a real prostitute wouldn't mind. "What do you want to know?" she asked.

"What were you paid?"

She blinked. "What?"

"What were you paid?" he asked again. "What compensation did you receive for your...favors?"

She seemed confused. "Whatever I wanted."

"Such as?"

"Money. Power. Whatever."

"What did you do with it?" Luke pressed. "Let's start with the money. You don't seem to have any of it left, and I thought I taught you at least _some_ measure of thrift."

"I guess you didn't teach me all that well. I spent it."

"All of it?"

"Yeah."

"On?"

"Stuff."

"What sort of 'stuff'?"

"The Afterlife, mainly. Plus supplies and repairs for Croyus Four. That sort of thing."

"Ohhh," Luke said, as if this were a great revelation. He paused as if considering the information. "So you spent it to save the lives of others. I see. Now what about this 'power' you say you received. What kind of empowerment did Etan Lippa give you?"

"He gave me the freedom to move around."

"He took it away from you, first."

"He gave me Croyus Four."

"To use as _he_ wanted. But look at all the people you helped at Croyus Four, right under his nose. That's pretty impressive. You didn't use Croyus Four for yourself, and you certainly didn't run the rescue operation for the glory."

Brenna thought for a moment, then said, "He taught me about the Force."

"From what I've seen, you were pretty much self-taught. You were already an accomplished telekin when he found you, and able to shield against _me_, which is no easy feat. And Etan Lippa never learned about your shielding abilities until the end."

"You're missing the point!"

"What point is that?"

"I wasn't an unwilling partner."

Luke paused and re-evaluated the situation. "So you're telling me...that you were attracted to Etan Lippa?"

She looked away.

"Did you love him?" Luke pressed. "Brenna, so far you've not said anything that would change my mind about what I've told Tibbik. The only thing that would convince me that your relationship with him was as something other than a victim would be if you loved him. If you want to set the record straight between us, then you owe it to me to answer a few more questions. Did you love him?"

Brenna shook her head. "I don't know. I made him _think_ that I did, at least. But you're still not getting it. You see him as a monster. He wasn't like that with me at all."

"Sweetheart, I _saw_ what he did to you, remember? When you let him link with you."

"But that was at the end, when I'd betrayed him. He was…the way he was because of his upbringing. You saw the records I gave you on Dagobah. You know what it was like for him. The Emperor trained compassion out of him. His mother was killed before his eyes. I think…even his father saw that there was still some good in him. I think that's why he was still trying to breed another heir."

Luke shrugged. The fact that Etan Lippa was the way he was just as much because of his upbringing as his genetics hardly mattered. "Okay," Luke said.

"It wasn't rape."

"Okay, so it wasn't rape."

"I think…he really believed that what he was doing was for the best."

"Okay."

She sighed, then grew thoughtful. For a moment, she dropped her mask. "I was the most important person in his life. As close as Etan Lippa could come to love, that's how he felt about me. I...understood him better than anyone else." She shook her head. "I don't know if I loved him. But I deceived him into thinking that I did. And for a while..."

"Yes?"

She swallowed, then went on with difficulty. "For a while, I _was_ attracted to him. I believed him. I wondered if maybe he wasn't right after all. I mean, all this so-called 'intelligent' life has been at war with itself since time began. But no one calls the winning side 'murderers.' They're usually called 'freedom fighters' or 'heroes.' It all began to seem like a matter of perspective to me. And Etan promised order, an end to all the wars. For a while, I thought...I mean, I'd forgotten..." She couldn't go on.

"You were confused."

"I guess."

Her answer was too vague. There was more to it than that, Luke knew, but it was a beginning. She was talking and answering questions; it was more progress than she'd made on Medea.

"That's understandable," Luke said. "Sweetheart, nobody can blame you for being human. Etan Lippa did not get to his position of power without fooling a lot of people. He was a master at deception."

"He wasn't the only one," Brenna muttered. "I lied to him, to Rupert, everyone."

Luke ignored her self-deprecation. "He was also a powerful projective telepath. I don't doubt that he was hitting you with everything he had."

Brenna looked at her father sharply for a moment, then looked away again and shook her head. "I'm a shield, remember? Or was, anyway. No, I'm sure my thoughts were my own."

Luke inclined his head. "All right, but I still think it would have been very difficult to filter out _every_thing. But he may have influenced you in other ways, too. He probably kept you so busy shielding and filtering that you didn't have time to think of much else. You're being too hard on yourself."

She closed her eyes and ran her fingers through her hair in a gesture she had unconsciously picked up from her father. "You don't understand. I knew you wouldn't."

"Then make me understand."

"Look, Dad, all I can say is, I'm not the sort of daughter you would want, not the sort you could be proud of."

Luke smiled. "Brenna, Sweetheart, no matter what you may have done while you were with Etan Lippa, you've more than made up for it with the Afterlife. And if you understood Etan Lippa, if you had the compression even to _love_ him, or if you had the courage to prostitute yourself to him for the sake of the Afterlife, well, then, you're a better person than I am. How could I _not_ be proud of you?"

"I'm not who you seem to think I am…"

"Honey, no matter who you are, or who you _think_ you are, you're still my daughter, and I love you."

Brenna bit her lip but said nothing. Luke stepped into her and wrapped his arms around her, but she didn't return the hug. "I will always love you," Luke told her. "No matter what happened between you and Etan Lippa, even if it was prostitution and not rape. No matter what you may have done."

"Would you love me even if I were the 'Butcher of Croyus Four'?"

"If you remember, at one time I _did_ think that. That's why I went to Croyus Four. I hope you've forgiven me for actually believing it for a while."

"There's nothing to forgive."

"Oh, yeah, there is. I should have trusted you, known you better than to have believed what I heard. But you were a good actress. Even so, I never stopped loving you even then."

"Never?"

"Not one second."

Brenna was silent for a few moments, and then, tentatively, Luke felt her arms come up around him to return the hug. Luke sighed contentedly and tightened his hold. Progress. They were making progress. Brenna was healing.

After a moment, Brenna murmured, "Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"That song…does it have words?"

Elaan's humming song. Briande's lullaby to Brenna. But while he was hugging Brenna, the music had no more power over him, could no longer affect him. "Yeah," he replied.

"Do you know them?"

"Yeah."

"I wanted to give—I mean, she wanted to know what they were, and I couldn't tell her. Would you…tell her the words?"

Luke smiled. He heard the unspoken message this time. She wanted to give her mother a present but had nothing to offer except indirectly. That he could deal with. "I've got a better idea," he said. "I'll teach _you_ the words, and then you can teach them to Elaan yourself. And then we'll go back to the group, because I want to see the rest of your dance."

Elaan stood at the corner of the house. Behind her, she could hear Aren's drums and Doran's dulcimer and Kayleen's guitar pounding a lively dance tune, but her attention was drawn to the sounds coming from in front of her. Then she felt an arm slip around her waist and a quiet voice in her ear.

"You are eavesdropping," Timmon accused. "It is a good thing they are too far away to hear clearly."

"I did not know whether to intervene," Elaan replied. She looked up and smiled. "But it appears as if they have resolved the difficulty themselves. They are talking, at any rate."

Then Luke's baritone voice began singing, very softly, too softly to make out the words, but the tune was familiar enough to recognize, and Elaan was pulled back into a past she couldn't remember.

"I think that you shall have the words to your humming song, after all," Timmon said.

"Yes," she replied a little distractedly.

They listened for a moment, then Timmon said suddenly, "I will leave with Doran in the morning."

Elaan returned sharply to the present and looked up at him, Luke and Brenna forgotten for the moment. "So soon? But spring has barely begun."

"The bonders' fair begins at the next turn of the moon, and by the time we return, it will be time to plow."

"You will be careful?"

"As always." Timmon kissed her on the forehead. "I am more concerned for you and Aren, after his experience with the Sniffers."

"You know that Aren and I are immune to the Sniffers."

"Yes, but your brother is not. If the Sniffers should return…"

"I think it more likely that the Sniffers will be on their way to the bonders' fair as well. Aren believes they were following a troupe with another wizard-born when he hid in the flying craft, and where else should a troupe be going at this time of year except there."

"Well, I hope they have enough sense to know that they are being followed."

"According to Aren, there was only one with the gift. The rest in the band were pretenders. I doubt they even know they have a genuine wizard-born among them."

"I shall endeavor to warn any apparent wizard-born I come across, whether genuine or no." He made an exaggerated sniff. "There may be something in the air…"

Elaan smiled. "Thank you. But I would not wish you to be so obvious about it."

"I know how to be discreet, my wife. I have not managed to thieve for these many years without at least a _little_ discretion."

Elaan's expression suddenly changed to concern. "Be careful, my husband. I have an uneasy feeling about this journey."

"If the goods which I steal were not worth the trouble, I would remain here with you and forego the journey altogether. Yet I will heed your warning."

"Be sure that you do. Your booty is precious, yet you yourself would be even more precious booty to the bonders, if you are caught."


	10. Chapter 10

**_The Face in the Shadows_**

**_Chapter Ten_**

Timmon had left two days earlier. He had gone to help a cousin with planting further to the south, where the weather grew warmer earlier. Or so he had said. It put Luke in something of an awkward position, since there was now no longer the physical presence of Elaan's husband to stand between himself and Elaan. All that was left to create a barrier was physical labor and activity, and Luke threw himself into those with energy. He finished one project after another, and in a strange way, he found working with the primitive tools…relaxing.

But there was something odd about the way the floor sounded when Luke accidentally dropped the tool he was using to plane the surface of the bench he'd been working on. It wasn't an obvious sound, but noticeable enough to make him rap the edge of the tool around the place where it had fallen in curiosity. The floor sounded normal _here_, and just slightly off from normal _there_. The difference was so slight it was hard to tell for sure, but by playing a little, Luke was able to determine that the difference in the sound ran in more or less a straight line, where a seam in the floor ran. The difference could be attributed to a slight difference in the density of the wood, but somehow Luke didn't think that was right. The boards at the seam didn't fit together quite as tightly as the other boards. Luke traced the line to a large rough-hewn shelf unit, mostly empty now that the winter was over, that held canned goods and miscellaneous other items. There was something odd about the shelf unit, too. There was a thin piece of wood stuck under one front corner of the shelf which look liked like a shim. There was no matching piece on the opposite front corner, and although there was a tiny gap between the bottom of the shelf and the top of the floor, there was no wobble to the shelf. In fact, as far as Luke was able to determine, the gap went along all the visible sides of the bottom of the shelf. It was so small that no one would notice unless he was on hands and knees with his head pressed against the floor as Luke was.

Still curious, Luke went to his pack and retrieved a small pencil-thin lamp. He lay down in front of the shelf unit and shined the light under the bottom. It was hard to see for sure, but it looked like the thing was on tiny wheels, and the shim was there to keep it from rolling, not to keep it level. There was something on the floor right under the middle of the shelf. Luke pushed away the small shim with his toe, and the shelf unit rolled away from the wall easily, like a door on a hinge.

The thing that had been under the shelf turned out to be a handle attached to the floor. Luke pulled on the handle, and a trap door opened. The hinges of the trap door were so cleverly disguised that it was impossible to see them from the top. There were stairs leading down. Luke lay the top open and shined his light into the space.

It was a room, nearly bare. There were a couple of mattress ticks, a single table with a lamp on it, and a shelf with canned food and blankets, but nothing else. It was clearly a hiding place, but for what purpose Luke couldn't even guess.

The sound of the barn door opening made Luke look up. Aren was entering the barn holding a tall cup of tea or some other liquid which Elaan periodically sent him to the barn to give to Luke. But Aren saw the open trap door, and the cup slipped out of his fingers as he froze in shock, sending its contents every which way and putting a dent in the metal surface of the cup.

The shock lasted only a second. Aren grabbed the pitchfork that was leaning next to the door and thrust the spike end towards Luke. "Get away from there!" the boy told Luke.

The boy was frightened of something, and wasn't thinking straight. Plus the fact that he had a growing feeling of jealousy towards Luke and Brenna did not help matters any.

Luke stood up calmly and spread his hands to show that he was not dangerous. "Put the pitchfork down, Aren. I'm not who you built the room to hide from." He took a step towards Aren, but the boy held out the pitchfork threateningly.

"I will not let you bond my family!" Aren said.

Luke frowned but stopped his advance. "Aren, you should know by now that I mean no harm to you or your family."

"I do not intend to take a chance."

Luke considered rushing the boy to disarm him, but there was always a chance that Aren could get hurt, and just then, behind Aren, Brenna was about to enter the barn but saw the scene and stopped short. Luke made a tiny gesture with his hand, using a code signal he had taught her to mean 'Get help.' Around here there was only one other person whose help she could get. Brenna apparently saw and understood the signal, because she immediately ducked back out of sight from the door. Aren might have seen Luke's tiny hand gesture, or the momentary flicker of Luke's eyes to a point behind him, or Brenna's shadow momentarily appearing near his feet, because he turned his head slightly to look, but by then there was nothing to see.

All Luke had to do now was stall, which wouldn't be particularly difficult since the boy's fear was already being replaced by nervousness. As long as Luke kept his distance and didn't startle the boy, there was no real danger. "So," Luke said conversationally, "Now that you've got me, what do you intend to do with me?"

Confusion was written all over Aren's face. The boy didn't have a clue what he intended to do with Luke. "I should…I should kill you. The mouths of the dead do not speak."

Luke had known one or two mouths of dead who had spoken, but he didn't figure that now was the time to bring that up. "Have you ever killed anyone before, Aren? It's not an easy thing to live with afterwards, even if your reason is a good one, and I assure you that you don't have a good one."

"Protecting my family is the best reason there is."

"But are you sure your family _needs_ protecting? What have I done to you or your family except bring you back to your home? And if you kill me, you'd end up having to kill Brenna, too, and you owe her your life. And besides, I don't think your mother would be very happy with you if you hurt either one of us."

"You are a sorcerer. You have bewitched her with your powers into thinking that you are a friend. But I know better."

"'Sorcerer'?" Luke smiled. "I thought the term here was 'wizard-born.' And if you condemn me for being that, you have to condemn yourself and your mother as well. Besides, your particular gift—and your mother's—means that I _can't_ 'bewitch' you. Nobody can. You're a Shield. That's why the Sniffers can't sense you. Is that what this room is for? To hide from the Sniffers?"

"I—"

From the boy's hesitation, Luke knew that there was more purpose for the secret room than that. Luke seized on that knowledge to reassure Aren that he and Brenna were not the source of the danger, despite the fact that there was obviously a danger _some_where. "Is there any reason _why_ I would want to turn you into the Sniffers, when Brenna and I are wizard-born ourselves? Come on, Aren. You know better than that."

The end of the pitchfork dropped ever so slightly. "There is always danger from the Sniffers."

Given time, Luke was now pretty sure he could talk the boy into putting the pitchfork down, but time was saved by the arrival of Elaan, and Brenna behind her. Besides, _pretty_ sure was not _absolutely_ sure, and Luke not want to take chances with Elaan's son. "Aren!" his mother exclaimed from behind him. "Set the pitchfork aside!"

Aren glanced at her in something like relief at having the situation being taken off his hands. But he was still a boy, and still had a streak of stubbornness about him. "He found the room."

"I can see that," Elaan said. "Now set the pitchfork aside." Without waiting for him to comply, she took the tool from firmly him and turned away to lean it against the wall of the barn. Then she looked at her son and indicated the house with her head. "Go inside. I will speak with you shortly."

Aren hesitated, unwilling to move.

"Go!" Elaan exclaimed, emphasizing her command with an arm and finger pointed towards the house.

Reluctantly, Aren turned and did as he was told. Elaan sighed when he had gone. "My apologies," she told Luke. "We have drilled into him so strongly the importance of keeping this room a secret from even his closest friends, that I fear he overreacted. And my apologies, too, for not telling you of the room. Timmon made me swear to keep the secret before he would allow me to invite you to stay."

"No problem," Luke said, smiling. "On either count." He looked down at the room. "Now that I've found it, though, would you mind telling me what it's for? With your gift, you don't need a room to hide from the Sniffers, and I think Timmon's leaving has a lot more to do with this room than with planting."

"Correct, on both counts," Elaan said, smiling.

Behind her, Brenna hesitated, wondering whether she should stay or leave. But Elaan turned and motioned her inside the barn. Brenna approached, and looked down into the hole at the room curiously.

"We are Guides along the Way," Elaan said.

"What's that mean?" Luke asked.

Elaan pursed her lips briefly. "In this territory, fremmin are more common than bondservants, but the practice is spreading. Further to the South, where Timmon has gone, the bondservants are more common."

"'Fremmin'." Luke frowned, then translated. "You mean 'free men'?"

"Yes, exactly. Fremmin are those of us who can keep out of debt. Craftsmen, mostly, and farmers such as Timmon and myself. However, there are many who cannot earn a decent life, and who find themselves in debt just trying to survive. They are arrested, then sold as bondservants to a bondlord. Supposedly, the term of service is limited, usually to seven years, but the bondlords always find an excuse to keep the bondservants past the term of service, either by pretending that the bondservant did not perform the quality of work expected, or saying that the bondservant agreed to a longer term of service in exchange for some favor, or pretending that the bondservant tried to leave before the term of service was complete. There are some few bonders who stay with the terms of service, but the majority will twist those terms to their greatest advantage."

"Slavers," Luke said, nodding. He was familiar enough with various practices of slavery, such as keeping the worker so far in debt that it was impossible to get out.

"There are those of us who oppose the practice of bondservice, and help those who are tired enough of the service to risk escape, especially those whose time of service has expired. Just having this room is an offense punishable by a lifetime service of bondship, and that lifetime is usually very short-lived. If the bonders learned of our involvement in the Way, Timmon, Aren, and myself would all be sold as bondservants, and our farm, which has been in Timmon's family for many generations, sold to the highest bidder."

"Don't worry," Luke said. "Brenna and I have no intention of speaking about the room to anyone." He looked over at her, and she nodded agreement.

"I knew that you would not," Elaan said, smiling, "but all the same, Timmon and his brother have not managed to guide travelers along the Way these many years without exercising a certain amount of caution."

"I take it that's where he is right now?"

"Yes. There is a bonder's fair that will take place shortly, about a week's journey to the south. Many bonders are sure to be there, leaving the bonders' home territories somewhat vulnerable. Timmon's contacts keep a list of who has been in which bonder's service and for how long. Timmon will seek out those who have been in service well past their terms and offer to conduct them along the Way if they so choose. Some do, but others are too fearful of the consequences of escape to risk it."

"And where do you take them to, if they do want to leave?"

"The territories to the north are less sympathetic to the bonders. Their hold is weak there. That is slowly changing, but it will be many years before the bonders have any real power there. For now, the fremmin there care very little whether their neighbors wear a bonder's mark or not, especially since many of them were bondservants themselves."

"So…what's the risk right here of being caught by the bonders?"

Elaan shrugged. "Very minimal, I should think. Only once in the time since I have been here have the bonders come searching. We had guests in the room, but the bonders did not find them, even though they searched the barn and the house so thoroughly that they destroyed most of our supplies. Legally, they have the right, but fortunately, we had enough money that we were able to replace what was lost, and we maintain good standing with our neighbors in the village. Timmon's risk is far greater, but he takes as much precaution as he can, and he would never betray us to the bonders."

"Don't be so sure. Under the right circumstances, anyone can break."

Elaan locked onto his eyes and held them. "I know my husband, Luke. He would never betray me, nor I him or Aren."


	11. Chapter 11

**The Face in the Shadows**

**Chapter Eleven**

Elaan went into the barn uncertainly, looked around, but only saw one occupant. "Luke?"

He looked up from the ride-beast's stall, saw the anxious, worried expression on her face, and set aside the pitchfork. "What is it?"

"Is Brenna here?"

"No. I haven't seen her since this morning."

"I am...not sure, but I...have a feeling...that something is very wrong."

"Elaan, your 'feelings' are something I'd trust more than most proven 'facts.' What is it?"

"I think...Brenna might be in trouble."

She had Luke's undivided attention. "What kind of trouble?" Luke asked.

"I do not know. I am not even sure she _is_ in trouble. It is just...a feeling that she _might_ be. But you are closer to her than I am, and with a sense even stronger than mine. If _you_ don't feel it..."

Luke frowned. "You're both Shields, and..." he'd almost let it slip that Elaan was Brenna's mother but caught himself in time. "And therefore you might have a connection to her that I don't. Do you have any idea where she might be?"

"About an hour ago she asked me for some old rags and took the path up the mountain. I did not _think_ anything was wrong at the time, and she did not say _why_ she wanted the rags, only that she had use of them."

"That's odd," Luke murmured. "All right, I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Should I go with you?"

"No, stay here in case she comes back, or in case she's gotten mixed up with the slavers. We'll need a safe haven if that's the case. I'll let you know what's going on as soon as I can."

"Very well," Elaan said. "Be careful."

Luke set off up the trail at a run. He hoped Brenna stayed on the main path. Despite his knowledge that she was Force-blind, he tried to contact her telepathically, but he couldn't even feel her presence, let alone make any sort of conscious contact.

He found her near the summit, sitting alone in the pasture clearing, facing away from him and towards the other mountains. Everything around her was quiet. The rags she had acquired from Elaan were on the ground beside her, apparently unused, along with a water canteen. Luke stopped for a moment, keeping his distance out of habitual caution, and looked around the edges of the clearing. There seemed to be no sign of danger. And yet...

He felt it then, almost like a physical sensation, but so Force-faint he couldn't be sure he was actually picking it up—a cold tingle of imminent danger that might or might not have come from Brenna.

All at once, Brenna lifted her head, and the quiet of the mountains was broken by the howl of a lone wild creature.

Except the sound was made by human vocal cords. It was a scream of utter anguish and despair, a cry of pain, of torture. He'd heard something like it before, from himself, when Darth Vader had cut off his hand, and again when the Emperor Palpatine had tried to kill him with that blue Force-energy, and more recently when Etan Lippa had tried the same thing. But now it was coming from Brenna.

And that made it worse.

As fast as Luke was, it still took him a moment to cross the clearing to get to her, and by that time, the howl was dying to a wail that lasted until there was no more breath to give it voice. Brenna's eyes were closed, and she didn't see him. Her face was wet from crying. She drew in a deep, shuddering breath, but did not howl again. Instead, she held the air in until it found its way out again in short, silent sobs.

Then she murmured to herself, shaking with the effort. "Have to," she said. Her eyes were still closed. "I have to..." She groped beside herself with one hand, and found the canteen. Finding it triggered another sob, but she cut it off. "Have to," she repeated, like a litany. The hand not holding the canteen was a fist, and it trembled as she started to raise the fist towards her face.

The faint physical sensation in Luke's being exploded into a feeling of extreme danger. "Bren?" he said quickly.

His voice startled her. Her eyes flew open, and a sound of surprise caught in her throat. "D-dad—" she managed to squeak out. "What—what are you doing here?"

"I was about to ask you the same question."

She opened her mouth as if to answer, but the words stuck in her throat. Around the words, however, a small sound slipped by and escaped.

Luke knelt beside her and put an arm around her to gather her close. "It's okay, Bren."

"I didn't want—" Brenna caught a sob and held it prisoner again, pushing it back down to the dungeon where it had come from.

"No," Luke said. "You've held it in long enough. Let it go."

She caught another sob, held it for a brief moment, before it escaped from between her teeth and through her lips. But there were many more pushing against the fortress doors she had barred shut, screaming to be let out.

"Yes, that's right," Luke murmured. "Let them all go."

The doors gave way, then, opened not by Brenna's will, but forced open by the pressure behind them, and a massive army of pain was released, each sob a prisoner of war from an inner conflict that had waged inside Brenna for far too long. And like the prisoners of Croyus Four, they hadn't died, but had been hidden from view. Tears spilled out of her eyes, as the locks that held them back also broke. And as each little prisoner was freed from bondage, Brenna shook with the effort of trying to recapture it.

But once started, the pains could not be stopped, and they came rushing out of her like a mob rushing toward freedom. Luke stroked her back as they escaped, trying to encourage her to let them go. But as they escaped, she kept saying, "I'm sorry..." and tried to catch again some of the pains she had just released.

He held her for a long time as she cried, feeling nothing except the soul bleeding in his arms, and his own heart breaking along with hers. In the course of her battle, the one in which she'd collected so many prisoners, she had been wounded by something. The wound had gotten infected, and closed with the infection still inside. It had ruptured, and though it was now open, it was still infected. It needed to drain, to be cleansed, to be dressed, to heal.

And as he held her, Luke gradually realized just what it was that had caused Brenna's wound. It was a shard of pain that he himself had stabbed her with, stabbed and twisted and driven deep inside her before she'd even met Etan Lippa...

It seemed like hours later before her sobs gradually lost some of their intensity. Still, Luke held her. He held her until she herself pulled away and wiped at her eyes with the back of her arm. "Sorry," she murmured for the hundredth time. "I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry about," Luke told her. He reached for the canteen that was on the ground, and which Brenna had brought with her, opened the lid, poured a little water onto his palm, and used it to wipe her tear-chapped face. She turned away and wiped her face dry on her sleeve.

"Put your head down," Luke commanded, "and lift your hair."

She did as he told her, and he rubbed a little of the cool water on the back of her neck, as well.

"Better?" he asked.

She nodded, but without looking at him. "I'm all right, now. Thanks."

That wasn't true. She wasn't all right; she was just anesthetized by catharsis. The wound was now lanced and drained, but that was all. The source of the infection was still inside her. He held the still open canteen out to her. "Take a sip."

She obeyed him, but almost choked as a stray sob tried to escape at the same time she tried to swallow. Luke took the canteen away from her and patted her on the back until the fit went away. He decided against offering her another sip, instead opting to wet one of the rags lying nearby, and handed that to her. She used it to wipe her face again, and the back of her neck again, then returned it to him with a nod, but still without meeting his eyes. "I'm okay now."

Luke screwed the lid back onto the canteen. "Now," he said. "Tell me what the matter is."

Brenna shook her head. "Nothing."

"I may be stupid, Bren," Luke said gently, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from her face. "But I'm not _that_ stupid."

She inhaled through her nose to clear it. "I meant...it's nothing I can't handle."

Luke pursed his lips briefly. "Let me rephrase," he said. "Tell me what's wrong before I _beat_ it out of you."

That elicited a tiny laugh, as he had intended. Although Luke had spent many hours teaching Brenna how to defend herself in a hand-to-hand fight, he had never, ever raised a hand to her in anger, not even in mock threat. The most he had ever done was raise his voice, and even that was rare.

But Brenna still didn't reply. He wrapped a hand around her shoulder, pulled her to his chest again, and then rested his chin on the top of her head. "Well, if you won't do the talking, I guess I will. I've got something to say I should have said a long time ago. It's a sort of...confession. Well, not 'sort of.' It _is_ a confession. You remember when you fell into the krail pit, back on Tatooine?"

She nodded wordlessly, under his chin.

Luke took a deep breath, then probed the wound he had made, to find the shard he had stabbed her with and take hold of it and pull it back out. "You remember when you went into that bio-trance?"

"I went in too deep," she murmured.

"Well, yes, but that's not my point. My point is that you were untrained. Or self-trained. Whichever. What I'm trying to say—and I'm not doing a very good job of it—is that I've taught gifted bio-mechanics, and it took months—and I mean _months!_—of hard, intensive work for the best of them to approach the level of skill that you showed then, without any guided training whatsoever. Hell, it took _me_ so long, Yoda almost gave up on me altogether, and when I finally _did_ get it, he had to pull me out, too."

She said nothing, but Luke glanced down at her face and saw a brow furrowed with confusion. She was listening, at any rate.

"So afterwards," Luke continued, "when I let you believe that the reason I wouldn't train you was because you weren't 'good enough'—that was a lie. I should never have let you believe that."

Brenna shook her head. "No, you were right."

"No, I _wasn't_." Luke said emphatically. "Sweetheart, you were the most gifted telekinetic I've ever seen, including myself, and even your non-dominant talents were far stronger than those of most students I've trained who were dominant in those areas. I let you believe what you believed, because it suited my purpose. I wanted to protect you, to hide you from Etan Lippa. That was all. If I had known you were a Shield as well as a Telekin—well, I would have done things a lot differently. You might not have had a permanent home like you did on Tatooine, but I sure as Hell would have trained you."

"No, you were right. Maybe not in the way you think, but right nonetheless."

The shard Luke had stabbed her with had gone deep, then. He had to probe the wound a little further to find it. "Right, how?"

"I...couldn't handle the power. The fact that I don't have it any more—it's for the best."

The stray hair found its way back, and Luke brushed it from her forehead again. "You handled it just fine, Sweetheart."

"Don't patronize me, Dad."

"I'm not patronizing."

She dragged a sleeve across the bottom of her nose and changed the topic. "I told you it was a mistake to come here."

"Why a mistake?"

"I mean, look what she did to me..."

He didn't have to ask who 'she' was. "What did Elaan do?"

She avoided his gaze and looked off into the distance. "I don't know, exactly. But before coming here...I wouldn't have cried."

She started to reach for the canteen again, and Luke was about to pass it to her when that inaudible voice inside Luke's head shouted _No!_ Something told him to look down. The Force, or his gut, or a presence, or _some_thing! was telling him to look not at Brenna's face, but to look lower, in her lap.

The only thing in her lap was her right hand. Her fingers were closed into a tight fist. There was something closed inside that fist. "What's in your hand?" Luke asked.

Brenna turned away from him a little more. "It's okay, Dad. I can handle it."

Luke was tired of not getting any answers. Brenna may be an adult now, but she was still his daughter. "I didn't ask you whether you could 'handle it,'" he said sternly, "I asked you what's in your hand. Now show me."

Brenna reluctantly uncurled her fingers. On her open palm lay the pill her doctor had given her back on Medea.

The abortion pill.

She held her hand open just long enough for Luke to see, then closed her fingers again and pulled her hand back. "Today's the last day, remember?" She turned to face him again, finally, and her eyes were pleading.

Pleading for...what?

Luke drew in a deep breath. He _had_ forgotten about the date. The reason for the rags was now painfully clear. But the only reason for Brenna to go through with terminating the pregnancy would be because she _wanted_ to.

And yet, her eyes, her body, her very soul were crying out against it.

She turned her face away again. Luke took her chin and gently turned her face back so he could see her again. Her eyes were closed, but new tears had squeezed between the slits. The cathartic anaesthetic hadn't completely numbed the wound, then.

"I'm all right," she said. "I just...need another minute, okay? Just another minute..."

Luke wiped her cheeks. "Brenna, Honey, you don't have to do this."

"Yes...I do." Her voice was barely audible.

"Are you _sure_?" She didn't sound so sure to _him_.

"I'm sure..."

Perhaps she _did_ want this, then. Maybe she was just...frightened. Maybe the same woman who had fooled Etan Lippa, who had run a rescue facility right under his nose, was afraid to take a pill that millions of women took on any given day, a pill that was considered so routine that medical supervision was very rarely necessary. "Sweetheart, if this is what you want, you don't have to do it alone. I'll stay with you. Elaan, too. I'll take you back to the house…"

"I'd rather do it here, alone," Brenna told him. "What I want—I mean, what I _didn't_ want is for anyone to see me like this. Especially you."

"I don't want you to _be_ like this, whether or not I'm there to see it," Luke replied. "You're young. You've got your whole life ahead of you. You should be happy..."

Brenna made a snort that was supposed to be a laugh and said bitterly, "Now there's a joke!"

"What do you mean?"

She pulled away from him again, but this time turned to face him from across the distance she had created. "Don't you understand? I'm _dead_! I'm already dead..."

"No," Luke said gently, but firmly. "You're not dead. But you _are_ wounded. Hurt."

"I'm dead to the Force, dead inside..."

"No. I think you're in so much pain, you just can't feel anything else. But it will heal, I promise. As long as there's life, there's hope."

"Not for me."

"Especially for you."

"No..." She took a deep, shuddering breath. "You don't know what I've done."

"Tell me."

She struggled for a moment with her need to tell, and her desire to _not_ tell. The need won. "I...killed...someone."

A man Luke would have killed himself, long ago, if he'd been able. "Sweetheart, Etan Lippa was no innocent. What you did was more than just self-defense, or even the defense of Rupert and me. Lippa was guilty of the murders of more than two billion sentients who _were_ innocent."

It was difficult for Brenna to get it out, but she had to. "I don't...mean...just Etan." She covered her eyes with the fingers of the hand not holding the pill. She took a deep breath. "There was another, one who _was_ an innocent...An old man..."

This was something entirely new and unexpected to Luke. "What old man?"

She shook her head. "Just...an old man that Etan was torturing. I could have saved him. I _should_ have saved him. Instead...I killed him."

"You're no murderer, Bren."

"You weren't there. You don't know." She ran the fingers that had been covering her eyes through her hair in an unconscious imitation of a gesture her father used when he was worn out, and at the end of his rope. "I took a life, and the only way to redeem that is to turn myself in to the appropriate authorities, confess what I did, and accept whatever punishment I deserve." She swallowed, and moved her hand to her stomach. "If I..." she didn't finish.

"If you, what?" Luke prodded gently.

"If I...could have this child...and know that it would be loved...that it would grow up to be all right...then no matter what else happened to me, I'd at least have that—a life given instead of taken. But..."

"Where did this happen?" Luke asked, getting back to the old man. "Croyus Four?"

"Yes. He…was one of Etan's prisoners."

Luke's thoughts raced. If Brenna had killed this old man, whoever he was, it certainly hadn't been out of malice or anger, but because Etan Lippa had forced her into it. Brenna herself had been a victim of Etan Lippa, kidnapped by him from the Academy. Lippa had attacked only New Republic worlds. The fact that this so-called 'murder' had occurred on Croyus Four meant that it probably fell under New Republic jurisdiction. If Brenna wanted to turn herself in, that was fine by him. He'd hire the best lawyers—Leia would help with that—and use whatever influence he and Leia could muster to ensure that the outcome of any trial of Brenna's was favorable. Given the circumstances Brenna was in while she was with Etan Lippa, and given all that she had accomplished with her rescue operations and the Afterlife, he doubted whether there was a New Republic jury anywhere that would convict her, even without lawyers. This abortion she was about to inflict on herself was by far the more pressing matter. Was all she needed just a little reassurance? That, he could give wholeheartedly.

"Sweetheart, if you want to have this child, then have it. If anything happens so that you can't raise it yourself, I promise I'll do my best to raise your child in your stead. I know I've made mistakes in raising you, that I haven't been the wisest father in the galaxy, but no one could love a daughter more than I've loved you. If anything happens to you, I promise that this child will be loved. And not just by me. There's Rupert. And Leia. And Han..."

She looked up at him with dim eyes, and a smile, and said, "It's not merely a question of 'love,' Dad. If it were, I could face anything. I already love this baby more than anything. But I can't let what I want interfere with what I have to do."

It took a second for her words to sink in, but when they did, and Luke realized that she still intended to go through with the abortion, he muttered a curse and stood up. He held out his hand for the pill. "Give me the damn thing."

Brenna looked at him blankly. She herself had used words far less polite, but this was the first time she'd ever heard her father say anything even bordering on the vulgar. "Why?"

"So I can throw it as far away from here as I can throw!"

Brenna reflexively pulled the fist holding the pill close to her body and turned half away from Luke, covering that hand with her other hand to protect it. "You can't!"

"Why not?"

"Because...I have to do the right thing."

Her words were bizarre, but she obviously believed them. "Brenna, if you want this baby, if you _love_ it, then having it _is_ the right thing to do."

His daughter looked at him with eyes that were half-accusing, half-begging. "Do you really want me to give birth to Etan Lippa's son? Palpatine's grandson?"

So she already knew the baby's gender. Before she'd lost her powers, she'd somehow connected with it. "You're certain Etan Lippa is the father?" Luke asked.

She nodded.

Luke let out as sigh and sat down next to her again. "Well, I can see where that might make your decision more difficult, but if you _love_ this baby—"

Brenna was incredulous. "Surely you must have some idea how dangerous it would be to go through with this pregnancy, even without the prophecy!" She made a quick intake of breath as she realized she had let the words slip out unguarded.

Here was something else Luke had not been aware of, but he sensed it was important, even more important than the confession of her so-called 'murder.' "What prophecy?"

Brenna closed her eyes. "There's a prophecy. When I had my powers, I could feel the truth behind the words. But I also thought—I hoped!—that there had to be a flaw in it, some sort of an out. But I've read it, and re-read it. I know it by heart. I've gone over and over it so many times, I couldn't even begin to count how many. There's no escape. The only 'out' is for me is this pill."

"What does this prophecy say?"

"That...I would go to Etan Lippa, and give birth to a new race."

Luke raised his eyebrows. If that was all it said, then there was, indeed, an 'out.' "That doesn't sound so bad," he told her. "A 'new race' could mean purple eyes, or something equally benign."

"There's a bit more to it than that."

"Like what?"

"Like...continuing Palpatine's line. Like fulfilling Etan Lippa's dreams. Like Light becoming Dark..."

Etan Lippa, Luke knew, claimed to be a seer. But Brenna had never made any such claims—in fact, had denied any such talents when Luke had once suggested it, back on Dagobah. "Honey, I wouldn't put much stock in anything Etan Lippa said."

"What about Yoda? He was your teacher. Would you put stock in what _he_ said?"

Luke chose his words carefully. "I might," he said slowly, "depending on how sure I was that they were Yoda's words, and depending on the context."

Brenna reached into a pocket and pulled out several sheets of paper that were folded into a packet. She unfolded the papers and handed the last one to Luke. "Etan gave me that, back on the Star Destroyer when we left Tatooine. When I first read it, I wanted so badly for there to be a flaw, I guess I thought, there _must_ be one. Then, when I went to Dagobah myself, I knew that everything Etan said, every word, was true. I went through Yoda's entire library looking for something to nullify the prophecy, but what I found only confirmed it." She handed Luke the other two sheets.

Luke scanned the papers. The writing looked like Yoda's, all right, and although it was possible to forge written documents, he _knew_ that these papers were original.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement, and he snatched out to grab Brenna's hand before she could lift the pill to her mouth.

"I _have_ to," she sobbed.

"Sweetheart," Luke said, "this is the first I've seen this. Give me a chance to study it."

"I've already studied it."

"But when you had your powers, you thought there might be a flaw. That means there probably is one."

"Dad...I've read that thing backwards and forwards and inside and out. There's no flaw."

"Just because you haven't found one doesn't mean it's not there. Give me some time to look at it."

"How much time?" she asked doubtfully.

Luke considered. "A few days at least."

"Dr. Minnitras would only authorize taking the pill through today. Any later, he said that the fetus might feel pain, and that it might possibly live for some minutes outside the womb before it died. I couldn't bear that..."

"I think I can guarantee that neither of those possibilities would occur, no matter how far along you were."

She shook her head. "You'd have to link with me, and I'd...hate that almost as much as this pill."

"Honey, you never knew Yoda. He could be very cryptic when he put his mind to it, which was most of the time. I'll need some time to sort this out."

"I haven't got any. There wouldn't be any point to it, anyway. I've told you already, there's no flaw."

Luke closed his hand over Brenna's to keep her from doing anything rash while he thought. He had to buy more time. It came to him in a flash of insight, how to gain a few more hours, anyway. "The day's not over yet."

"The sun's going down. It will be soon."

"The day on _this_ world, not in standard time. By my reckoning, we've got about, uh, ten more hours left before your doctor's authorization runs out."

He could see it in her eyes, a brief light dimmed all too quickly. "It would only be postponing the inevitable," she said quietly.

She was drowning in pain. Luke threw a strand of common-sense to her like a lifeline of hope. He waved the papers. "Are you going to give up the chance that your interpretation could be wrong? Why not give me the ten hours, let me read this, and give you an opinion. If you want this baby, if you _really_ love it, like you say you do, then give it one last chance."

She was afraid to let herself believe, afraid that the line of hope was too thin and fragile to hold her. But despite her fear, she wanted the baby, wanted it desperately.

"Bren…if you don't give me the time to look now and I find something after you take the pill, you'll regret this for the rest of your life. If I can't find anything, how much difference could a few more hours make? It only makes sense to let me try." Luke reached out, stretching his line of hope to her as far as he could, but he could only offer it. He couldn't grab it for her.

"All right," she breathed. "I'll give you until a half hour past sunrise, ten hours from now." Brenna finally reached out to take hold of the line, but she wasn't out of the water yet. It was running fast and deep, and she was near to giving up. But for the moment, she was holding on. "You're Luke Skywalker. If you can't find a flaw by then, there isn't one to be found. And it can't be one ambiguous line. It has to affect the scope of the entire prophecy." She put the hand holding the pill into one of her pockets. When she withdrew the hand, it was empty. Then she settled down to watch her father read the papers she had given him.

"Oh, no," Luke said. "I'm not going to try to figure this out with you hovering over my shoulder, or with me trying to read this in the dark. _You_ may have it memorized, but _I_ don't. I need time to read this, and to study it. Alone. In the meantime, you're going to give me your word not to take any pills or do anything else along that line until my time is up."

Brenna hesitated, then nodded. She was holding onto the line, but needed him to pull her back to shore. "Agreed."

Luke rose to his feet. He wanted to get someplace where he could read the papers in peace, and didn't want to waste any time stumbling about in the dark. She was still in danger of drowning. He needed to find a stronger line to pull her to shore. "Let's get back to the house."

"No. You go back. I'd rather stay here, where it's…peaceful. I'll be all right by myself. There's nothing about the dark that frightens me anymore, and I have my lightsaber if any dangerous animals come calling."

"All right. I'll see you here in the morning, then." He paused just long enough to kiss Brenna on the forehead and add, "Don't forget your promise."

As he made his way quickly back towards the house, he could feel Brenna's eyes on him, pinning her whole future on his ability to find a flaw in a few sheets of paper that even without reading, he could sense bore words that were absolutely true.

He had to find the flaw Brenna needed. And find it by morning.


	12. Chapter 12

_(Author's Note: My apologies that the poem formatting didn't transfer so well into this file.)_

**The Face in the Shadows**

Chapter Twelve

Luke re-read Yoda's words yet again from the beginning, trying for the umpteenth time to see them from a new perspective, to find the flaw that Brenna needed. He started with the first page.

.

_Last student of mine, _

_If the knighthood you've earned,_

_Recall your last lesson,_

_And what you have learned._

_ ._

_The wisdom of Ancients_

_Is given, not earned._

_So, Student, be Teacher,_

_Pass on what you've learned._

_ ._

_And, Student, remember_

_The Emperor's might,_

_And also what passes_

_When Dark takes in Light._

_ ._

_For Light becomes Dark_

_In a backwards time when_

_A Shield casts a Shadow _

_And the dead live again._

_ ._

_And, Student, now Teacher,_

_Look to the back_

_Of Force-painted armor _

_With an emblem of Black._

_ ._

_For Light means hope, _

_And Shadow blocks Light._

_The brighter the sun,_

_The darker the night._

_._

_The future will always _

_In motion remain. _

_Yet the bond of events_

_Is an unbroken chain._

_ ._

_The Dark Path once trodden_

_Dominates destiny,_

_And the path that is chosen_

_Dominates prophecy._

_ ._

_The path filled with hope_

_Or the path filled with dread;_

_The riddle of Life_

_Is solved by the Dead._

_ ._

_Author of Shadows,_

_And Painter of Night,_

_Makes illusions of knowledge_

_By blocking the Light._

_ ._

_Will the Teacher, the Creature,_

_The Mate of the Beast_

_Stand as foes in the battle,_

_Or join at the feast? _

_ ._

_Prophetic enigma,_

_When Darkness rules Sight,_

_And Shadows rule Jedi_

_Eclipsed from the Light._

_ ._

_A Dark Prophet's profit_

_Is Prophecy's might,_

_And the eyes of the Seer_

_See only the Night._

.

_To win is to lose,_

_No victory complete._

_The weight of an aegis_

_Can its wearer defeat._

_ ._

_To struggle against _

_A prophecy's will,_

_Can a Jedi's heart harden_

_And own offspring kill?_

_Else inevitable end_

_Set in motion will be_

_In the chain of events_

_That fulfill prophecy._

_ ._

_If you heed not my words,_

_You may yet have a chance, _

_When the Dead teach the Dead_

_How to join in the Dance._

_. _

This page seemed to be addressed specifically to Luke himself. He was Yoda's last student, after all. Some of it was meaningless, and some of it actually made a certain amount of sense. It was as if Yoda were standing there telling him, "Luke, your daughter will be a Shield, able to withstand any Force-generated attack. She will also have the unique ability to project her shield, and create a false sense of presence in the Force, to cast a shadow, to project an image of Darkness instead of Light, even to simulate death."

Luke sighed. But what had Yoda meant when he wrote 'The riddle of Life is solved by the Dead'? It was Brenna's life that was hanging in the balance, certainly, and her child's. But how could it be solved 'by the Dead'? By someone from the Afterlife? By this 'old man' Brenna blamed herself for killing? By Luke himself, who had been 'dead' for a time, apparently by Brenna's hand? And the bit about a Jedi killing his or her own offspring—Yoda seemed even to have foreseen Brenna's dilemma about keeping the child. Or was it Brenna who was the offspring, and Luke who was the parent? But Luke had always known, even when he believed that Brenna had turned to the Dark Side, that he could never take her life.

There had to be _something_. Yoda even said specifically that if Luke screwed up, which he had, that there was still a chance, "When the Dead teach the Dead how to join in the Dance." The "Dance" could be the dance of life, and Brenna had described herself as being "Dead," but who was the other "Dead" who would teach her how to join the Dance of Life? Yoda himself, perhaps? Maybe even Etan Lippa?

It was frustrating. He was missing something, he knew it. But he couldn't figure out what it was.

Luke lay the first sheet down and picked up the second. The next one seemed to be addressed to Brenna, but that was as far as Luke got, except that Yoda specifically mentioned a 'key' on this page. 'One who is and yet isn't will unlock what I see,' he had written. If Luke could just find the one key, he felt certain the rest of it would make sense.

.

_One I've not met,_

_If you seek for the key,_

_One who is and yet isn't_

_Will unlock what I see._

_ ._

_No longer a child,_

_Untutored, you burn_

_With a knowledge of Power_

_And a hunger to learn._

_ ._

_Use Force for knowledge_

_And for defense._

_Yet against the Dark Agent,_

_Defense is pretense._

_ ._

_The secret of Force_

_You already know:_

_Created by life_

_And life makes it grow_

_._

_But three passions bring danger:_

_Aggression, anger, fear._

_For when they are strongest,_

_The Dark Side is near._

_ ._

_Descendant of Jedi,_

_A Shadow can gain_

_The power of Jedi_

_When the Jedi are slain._

_ ._

_Is the Dark Side then stronger?_

_To it will you yield?_

_In the heat of the battle,_

_Which One will you shield?_

_ ._

_His choices bring doom._

_The battle cannot be won._

_You cannot protect many._

_You can shield but the One._

_ ._

_All strength has an end._

_When your gift has a limit,_

_Find asylum in mirrors,_

_Take refuge in a pit._

_ ._

_But you who would enter_

_The cave without fear, _

_In search of a comfort,_

_Will not find it here._

_ . _

This sheet, as near as Luke could tell, seemed to be telling Brenna, among other things, where to go when she needed to rest, and how to defeat Etan Lippa. It was more instructional than prophetic. On the other hand, Yoda couldn't foresee everything, but he had foreseen _some_thing. The problem was trying to figure out what it was. The last thing Yoda had said before he died was, "The Force runs strong in your family. Pass on what you have learned…" Luke wished he had done just that. He had _intended_ to do just that, until Etan Lippa had entered the picture.

But if Yoda's dying words had been to tell Luke to train Brenna, Yoda had also foreseen that Luke _wouldn't_ train her, that she would be 'untutored,' or else why would he have written about something as elemental as how the Force was created, and when the Dark Side was strongest?

No, there was nothing here—nothing that Luke could use now, anyway, despite the tantalizing mention of a "key." The second page had very little to do with the prophecy itself, and more to do with the business of staying alive.

Once again Luke came to the conclusion that it was the third page that was the main difficulty. It was this last page wherein Yoda gave specifics about the prophecy, that Brenna would go to Etan Lippa, that her unborn child would fulfill Lippa's dreams. It was this page that Etan Lippa had torn from Yoda's Book of Prophecies and later given to Brenna. Luke picked it up and tried once more to find the flaw.

.

_As my life's end draws near,_

_A vision I see._

_From out of the Darkness:_

_A last prophecy._

_._

_Now, Reader, take heed;_

_The prophecy know:_

_Daughter of Light _

_To Darkness' Son go._

_ ._

_The last of one line,_

_The first of another;_

_Skywalker's end,_

_New destiny's mother._

_ ._

_For the Emperor's blood_

_And a Skywalker bride_

_Will together engender_

_The grand-sire's pride._

_ ._

_Descendent of Dark _

_And of Jedi will mate,_

_And a new line of heirs_

_In the Force will create._

_ ._

_And the get of the union, _

_Despite Jedi schemes,_

_When it comes of an age,_

_Will achieve sire's dreams._

_ ._

_Like mother, like daughter, _

_Like father, like son._

_The tree bears the fruit_

_When the planting is done._

_ ._

_Old ways will be ended,_

_A new era begun_

_When Skywalker's daughter_

_Loves Palpatine's son._

_ ._

_And Palpatine's seed_

_In garden well-tended_

_Will grow into fruit_

_As prophecy's ended._

_ . _

Luke ran his hands through his hair in frustration when he came to the end. He'd actually heard some of the words before tonight, odd, disconnected lines, mushed together in a cacophony of voices, when he'd gone into the cave on Dagobah while Brenna was sleeping. But they hadn't meant anything to him then.

Now, connected as they were, they had somewhat more meaning, but the only meaning he could get _wasn't_ the meaning he wanted to draw.

...But the future was always in motion, wasn't it? Hell, it even said so in this damn prophecy. And what was the "key," connected to "one who is and yet isn't". Brenna's child, maybe? And what about the "riddle of Life" being "solved by the Dead"? Obviously the same "Dead" that Yoda mentioned before, who would teach her to join the Dance of Life. But who was it?

The whole thing was a paradox. If Luke didn't find a flaw, then she would abort the baby. Which would nullify the prophecy. Which would mean that she should be able to keep the baby, since the prophecy couldn't possibly be true, anyway. But she believed in it, and so did Luke, really. He could sense that there was truth in it, just as there had been truth in the Emperor's prophecy, that Luke would go to Vader and then Vader would bring him before the Emperor. The prophecy had been true enough, even though it hadn't quite worked out the way the Emperor thought it would.

He had to find the flaw, and soon. He was running out of time.

A plate of food being set on the table beside him made him look up.

"You did not come to supper," Elaan said in response to his expression, "and you have not eaten anything since."

Luke sighed. "I don't think Brenna's eaten anything, either. Thanks, Elaan, but I don't have time. I have to keep working. Sun's coming up soon."

She put her hand on his shoulder and leaned over the arm of the chair. "Odd, how a few sheets of paper could cause her so much unhappiness. But it is the words more than the paper, is it not? And words have been known to start wars."

"Yeah," Luke muttered, and focused his eyes back on Yoda's words. He shook his head. "There's got to be something I'm just not seeing."

"May I try?" Elaan asked.

Luke slid the three sheets over to the place next to him on the table. He didn't need them any more, anyway. Like Brenna, he had the damn thing memorized. "Be my guest. I'd let your ride-beast read it if there was any chance he might help. And you're much more—" He stopped suddenly, realizing...

...Elaan herself was someone who was and yet wasn't. She was Brenna's mother, but yet...wasn't. Not after her head trauma changed her from Briande into Elaan. Briande was dead, but here was Elaan, still alive. _Look what she did to me,_ Brenna had said. _Before coming here, I wouldn't have cried._ Was _Elaan_ the key? As soon as he asked himself that question, he knew the answer. _Elaan_, somehow, held the answer in solving this riddle.

Luke watched as Elaan's eyes moved across each line, then down to the next one, slowing down in some places, speeding up in others.

Elaan read it through, frowned, then read it through again.

When she reached the end again, her brows furrowed, and she gazed back at him with a slightly confused expression. "I am sorry, Luke, but I do not see what is so evil about these words. Perhaps if you explain them to me...?"

Luke was about to respond, when he closed his mouth again and looked at her for a moment. Then he said, "Why don't _you_ explain them to _me_? Your interpretation, I mean. Without my contaminating you with my own thoughts."

"Well," Elaan said slowly, "to begin with, I, too, sense that there is the ring of truth to what is said here. The tone is ominous, to be sure, but the parts that seem to be specifically prophetic bear no such mark."

Luke thought about that for a second. There were several places where he could directly contradict her, but he wanted to hear the rest of what she had to say. "Go on," he said.

"If Brenna is the mother referred to, and I assume that she is, or we would not trouble to read this, and moreover I _sense_ that she is, then why should not her child be its grandsire's pride. I would _hope_ that you would be proud of your grandchild, just as I would hope to be proud of Aren's children, when he has them."

"Okay," Luke said, "the grand-sire could just as easily refer to me as—as to the child's other grand-sire. That much I've already figured out. But the part of 'fulfilling the sire's dreams.' What do you make of that?"

Elaan shrugged. "What _should_ I make of it? Why should the child not fulfill its father's dreams? I do not know Brenna's young man, of course, but from all accounts, he is a worthy gentleman, even if _his_ father is referred to as 'Darkness.'"

"Wait a second," Luke said. "You think the father of Brenna's unborn child is _Rupert_?"

Elaan frowned. "That _is_ the name of her young man, is it not?"

"Well, yes, but..." he frowned, then pored over the poem again, already knowing what he would find—or what he _wouldn't_ find, as the case was. The poem never really mentioned Etan Lippa by name, except in reference to the Emperor. Luke pointed to the various lines that specified 'Palpatine' or 'the Emperor' and looked up at Elaan. '"It says here, here, and here, that the father is 'Palpatine's son.' And it implies as much here, where it says 'Darkness' son'."

Elaan looked at him blankly. "Who is 'Palpatine'?"

Luke studied her. "You really don't remember the Emperor, do you? Palpatine was Etan Lippa's father. You remember Etan Lippa, don't you?"

"Yes, of course. You told me. Etan Lippa was the man who kidnapped Brenna and tried to turn her to Evil. "

"That's true," Luke said thoughtfully.

Elaan sighed. "Well, since Rupert is not 'Palpatine's son,' and Etan Lippa _is_, my interpretation is obviously flawed. I fear I do not know what to make of it now."

Luke didn't answer. He pulled the three sheets of paper closer and began reading over Yoda's prophetic poem from a different perspective.

Elaan murmured something that Luke didn't quite catch, and it took him until the end of the poem to even realize that she had spoken. "What did you say?" he asked.

"I said, is Brenna certain of who the father is, then?"

"Good question," Luke murmured. He sat back in his chair, and stared off into the distance for several long minutes. "You know what?" he said finally. "I think that's a _very_ good question. And I think another very good question is, just who, exactly, is 'Palpatine's son'?"

.

.

.

Luke ran up the path to the place where he had left Brenna the last time he saw her. The horizon was beginning to lighten, but the sun was still hiding behind a mountain. He had the answers he needed now, thanks to Elaan. It was all so simple. So simple, so obvious, and yet so hidden if you didn't know what the "key" was.

He got to the plateau clearing and panted from the exertion, but what he saw made him catch his breath again.

Brenna was there, standing at the very edge of the precipice, looking down.

"Brenna, honey," Luke said, loud enough to be heard but not, he hoped, loud enough to startle. "Brenna, honey, please come back from the edge. I have something to tell you. Please, Bren, just step back..."

She didn't step back, but she did turn to face him. She'd been crying again. "I didn't think you'd come," she said.

Luke extended a hand and moved towards her slowly. "I would have come even if I hadn't found anything."

"You found something?" His words had penetrated at some level, at least.

"Yes. Honey, please, just step back..."

She didn't step back, but she didn't move in any other direction, either. In a moment, Luke was close enough to touch her, and grasped her firmly by the arms. She allowed herself to be led to a safer distance from the precipice, and Luke breathed a sigh of relief. "Sweetheart, don't ever do that to me again."

She suddenly seemed to realize where she'd been standing, and gave him a wry smile. "Don't worry, Dad. I wouldn't have had the courage. I was just…thinking about it."

"Don't even _think_ about it, Bren. Life's too precious a gift, and hope's always just around the corner."

"You found something?" she asked again, her voice almost a whisper. She was afraid to ask, almost.

"Yes." He wrapped his arms around her. "Oh, sweetheart, yes!"

Brenna murmured something that was muffled.

"What?"

She lifted her head and looked at him with those eyes so afraid to hope. "Then there really _is_ a flaw?"

Luke took a deep breath. "Not exactly a flaw, no." Then he went on before she could mistake what he meant. "Better than a flaw. A misinterpretation. A big one. Big enough to effect the scope of the entire prophecy, like you wanted. It's going to take some explaining, so...let's just sit down, and please bear with me for a little while."

She let herself be guided to the ground, and once she was seated, Luke began to relax a little.

"First of all," he began, "like I said, there's no flaw. It's a misinterpretation. The prophecy was deliberately written so that it _would_ be misinterpreted. If Yoda weren't already dead, I'd want to wring his little green neck for what he put you through, except that he probably saved your life. Secondly, I'm not the one who found the misinterpretation. Elaan is. She formed the correct interpretation right away, but I didn't show the papers to her until just a little while ago. She read them without knowing what you and I know, and therefore her perception was not contaminated. She just...read it, and she _knew_. In fact, she read it through several times before she said anything, because she knew that I, like you, was so certain that it meant something entirely different, and she thought she must be reading it wrong. But _she _was the one reading it correctly. I was giving Yoda's words the same interpretation you were, but Elaan knew better."

"What...did she make of it?" Brenna asked a little shakily.

Luke nodded. He was getting to that. "Like I said, this is going to take some explaining. Here—" He let go of Brenna to pull the sheets out of his pocket and lay them side by side on the ground. He held them down with one arm while he reached with the other to pick up rocks to weigh each of the papers down. "Find me some little stones, will you?"

Brenna looked around where she was sitting and collected a handful of pebbles. Luke did the same, but when Brenna was about to pour them into his hands, he said, "No, you hold them," and poured his collection into her cupped palms.

"Why stones?" Brenna wondered.

"'Cause they're handy," Luke answered, giving her a smile for the first time since he had come into the clearing. Then he added, "We'll use them as markers. When you agree with me, I'll mark off a stanza as being irrelevant, or not bad enough to cause any great excitement. Okay?"

"Okay," Brenna said doubtfully.

"Okay. And I want to preface all this by saying that Yoda probably foresaw that Etan Lippa would find that third sheet, but my guess is, he wasn't quite so sure about the other two. And that first sheet was meant for _me_, not you. The second sheet was the only one meant for you." Luke grinned at her. "Now, I don't mean to be critical, Bren, but your whole problem with this prophecy stems from reading other people's mail."

Brenna offered him a wan, hesitant, half-formed smile in response.

"And one of these days, I'm going to take you back to the cave on Dagobah, and show you what Yoda _really_ looked like. But that's for another time. Now. Let's start by looking at the layout of the pages. This first sheet is meant for me. It makes perfect sense to me, but it has nothing, really, to do with the prophecy…"

Eventually he was able to convince her that the first two sheets really had nothing alarming in them. The first sheet, meant for Luke, was mostly a description of Brenna's abilities as a projective shield. The only stanza that really had anything to do with the prophecy said that the path that was chosen would dominate it. Luke pointed out that the chosen path could refer to _either_ the Dark path, or the Light path, and that "the Dead" who would solve "the riddle of Life" could refer to either Brenna's Afterlife on Medea, or to Elaan, or both. He himself had even been "dead" for a short time. Brenna replied that the reference could also be to Etan Lippa or even to Palpatine. Luke responded that using either of those made the riddle more complex rather than solve it, and in any case, if he allowed it might be Lippa or Palpatine, then _she_ had to allow it could be Elaan or the Afterlife, and therefore the whole stanza was so ambiguous that it didn't matter anyway, and convinced Brenna to mark it as not mattering. He did point out, however, that "what passes when Dark takes in Light" is that Darkness is banished. When light is brought to a dark place, the darkness disappears.

The second sheet, the one addressed to Brenna, was equally benign. Some of it contained basic lessons that Luke should have taught Brenna himself. The rest told her how to deal with her shielding gift and how to defeat Etan Lippa. Brenna even admitted that she had gotten the idea of shielding Etan Lippa instead of Luke or Rupert from one of the stanzas on that paper.

When he got her to agree that the first two sheets were not really related to the scope of the prophecy, Luke shook off the pebbles, folded the sheets, and put them in his pocket.

Then, one by one, Luke had her mark out the remaining passages that were either questions, which he pointed out were never answered, or so vague as to be meaningless, until the only ones left were the ones that specifically referred to the strength of the prophecy, or to the father of Brenna's child.

Luke grinned at her. "From this point on," he said, "let's agree that anything you or anyone else might have inferred from the written prophecy is just that, inference, and not necessarily fact. Agreed?"

Brenna nodded slowly, then added, "As long as _you_ agree that anything that is _overtly_ stated can be taken as fact."

"I won't argue with you there. Not this time. So, going only by what is stated, the prophecy never mentions Etan Lippa by name. Wouldn't you agree?"

"But it states 'Palpatine's son.'"

"Right. But the prophecy never says 'Etan Lippa.' It just says 'Palpatine's son.'"

"It never says 'Brenna,' either, but unless you're holding out on me, I think we can assume that 'Skywalker's daughter' is me."

"No, you're my only child. But 'Skywalker's daughter' could also mean your aunt Leia, except that _that_ wouldn't make any sense at all. Now, stop changing the subject. We were talking about Etan Lippa, who is _not_ mentioned by name in the prophecy. Let's just suppose for a minute that Etan Lippa is _not_ the father of your baby, but that everything else is true. Discounting all the ambiguous stuff, the prophecy wouldn't be so bad, would it?"

"But that's the whole point, isn't it? Etan Lippa _is_ Palpatine's son, and the child will fulfill the father's dreams."

"Just answer the question, Bren. If Etan Lippa were not the father, the prophecy wouldn't be so bad, would it?"

"No, I suppose not," she admitted. "Maybe not the prophecy alone, but when you take it together with the rest—"

"We'll talk about that later. For now, let's just stay focused on the prophecy. Hypothetically, if Etan Lippa were not the father, it wouldn't be so bad, would it? No matter how rotten and evil the child's _grandfather _might be."

"No, I suppose not," Brenna admitted. "But who else besides Etan Lippa could be the father? Who else could be 'Palpatine's son'?"

She wasn't really expecting Luke to be able to answer, but he did. Luke opened the hatch bays and dropped the bomb. "Rupert."

"What?" She couldn't quite believe what she had heard.

"Rupert is the father of your baby."

Brenna shook her head. "That's not possible. Rupert and I were only together once before I became pregnant."

Luke gave her a wry expression. "I think we may have to review some of your biology lessons. Once is all it takes."

"But the prophecy specifically refers to 'Palpatine's son.'"

"Rupert _is_ Palpatine's son." Luke said, grinning again.

Brenna stared at him, then shook her head. "What?"

"It makes sense. _You're_ the one who told me about Palpatine's breeding camps, remember? And on Serpio, where Palpatine's orders were not carried out, some of the women escaped, and others were sold to the slave traders."

"So?"

"So, you also told me that one of the women who escaped—one of the _pregnant_ women, mind you—was tracked to Ramos before her trail disappeared."

"How do you get from that to Rupert's being Palpatine's son."

"Rupert was found on Deraan Two. The Panderaan system records are extremely well kept, yet there was no genetic type-match for Rupert on file. Neither was there a genetic type-match on record for the body of the woman Leia identified as the one who handed her the infant Rupert during Brenna Brellis' attack, although a type-match on her body which was later found outside did prove that the woman was Rupert's mother. Deraan Two is just a short hop from Ramos, and I'm willing to bet that Deraan Two is one of Ramos' main ore suppliers. It would be pretty easy to jump ship from Ramos to Deraan Two."

Brenna was still incredulous. "But Rupert's a creature-empath. Palpatine was a transformer. He couldn't possibly be Rupert's father."

"Rupert has only begun to tap his abilities. I concentrated his training on his creature-empathy, because that's where the greatest need was. Palpatine collected Force-sensitives for his breeding stock. If Rupert's mother was a creature-empath, it would explain why she'd go back outside to get caught in the raid, when she could have stayed underground in the Deraan Two caverns, where it was safer. An untrained creature-empath will go insane. If she were untrained, the insanity would have been catching up to her. And there's something else, too."

"What?"

Luke shrugged. "The more I think about it, the more I think that Palpatine was just plain insane. The Emperor had a lot of Force-talents. It's possible that, in addition to being a telepath, and a transformer, and a telekinetic, and a seer, he was also a creature-empath. On the other hand, a dominant telepath or two has been known to crack up."

"Etan was a dominant telepath," Brenna said thoughtfully.

"And what we know about his early years doesn't exactly lead to a mentally healthy adulthood. But let's get back to the issue at hand."

"The prophecy," Brenna nodded. "But if Rupert were Palpatine's son, wouldn't Yoda simply have said?"

Luke let out a laugh. "If he'd been writing for you or me, he probably would have. Don't forget, sweetheart, he wrote that for Etan Lippa. Yoda _knew_ Lippa would find the prophecy paper. And that's what saved you. If Lippa knew that it would be his brother or half-brother who would father your child, he wouldn't have let you live."

Brenna was silent for a moment. Then she said, "I want to believe you, but with my powers gone, I can't feel whether you're right or wrong…"

Luke smiled. "Honey, if you doubt me, I know one sure way to prove to you that I'm right."

"How's that?"

"Let me take you back to Medea. Do a paternity test."

"You _want_ me to have a paternity test?"

"Absolutely. If it will set your mind at rest. I don't think your doctor would have any problem extending your deadline for the time it takes us to get back. Except, of course, when you get the results, you will want to keep the kid."

Brenna stood up and began pacing as Luke watched her. Finally, she stopped pacing and looked at him. "Dad," she said, "you know what's at stake here. I need a completely honest answer. Do you really believe what you told me to be true?"

Luke stood up to face her and put his hands on her shoulders and looked her square in the eye. "Sweetheart, I'm _positive_ it is. The only reason I want you to do the paternity test is because without your powers, it's the only way for _you_ to be sure."

She was almost convinced, almost. "Not the only way," she said. "You're Luke Skywalker. If you tell me, without a doubt, that Rupert is Palpatine's son and the father of my child, then I'll believe you."

Luke smiled. "Without a doubt," he said, "Rupert is Palpatine's son and the father of your child. We'll get a paternity test to confirm, but I'm certain of it. Hell, even without the Force, just look at the resemblance between Rupert and Etan Lippa. It's a wonder none of us saw it before."

Brenna's eyes watered, but not with the tears of despair she had cried the last time. These were tears of joy and relief. Her sob was a welcome sound. Luke wrapped his arms around her. Brenna willingly turned her cheek to his shoulder and held onto him. And for once, her father was very, very glad to be Luke Skywalker.

"You know, though," Luke said, "all this presents us with a new problem, possibly even bigger than the prophecy."

Brenna started to pull away, but Luke held onto her. "What's that?" she asked in a worried voice.

"How to tell Rupert," Luke replied. "I know from first-hand experience that he won't be too happy to find out who his genetic father was. He's going to need a lot of support."

Brenna relaxed against her father's chest again and laughed. "Leave that to me," she said.


	13. Chapter 13

**The Face in the Shadows**

**Chapter Thirteen**

"I don't believe it," Luke said, grinning, looking from the hungry skerit by the stall door to his daughter trying to coax milk from the milk-beast's teats.

Brenna turned. "What?

"You're actually enjoying yourself."

Brenna turned back to the milk-beast, but not before Luke caught a glimpse of her smile. "What's the matter?" she asked. "Can't a girl have some fun every now and then? I'm _supposed_ to be on a vacation, you know."

"Sorry," Luke apologized.

The skerit grumbled from near the stall door, and Brenna directed a stream of milk straight into its mouth.

"Nice shot," Luke commented.

"Thanks," Brenna acknowledged, and sent another stream as accurately as she had the first.

For a while, Brenna continued filling the milk bucket, and occasionally feeding the skerit.

Then, suddenly, Luke frowned. Brenna looked up from her milking and saw it. "Dad? Are you all right?"

He shushed her, and went into an attitude of listening. But whatever he was listening to, it wasn't something that could be heard with the ears. Finally, he looked at Brenna. "Something's wrong," he said. "I think... Elaan's in trouble..."

"Are you sure?" Brenna asked.

Luke shook his head. "It's too vague. But something's...not right." He held out a hand to help Brenna to her feet. "Let's go see what the trouble is." They abandoned the milk-beast and the pail.

As they went outside the barn, they met Elaan, who was running towards them. She was clearly upset. "Luke! Brenna! Have you seen Aren? Is he in the barn?"

Luke caught her by the shoulders and stopped her. "No. Why?"

"Something is wrong!" She ran her fingers through her hair in agitation. "I know it! He is hurt. But I do not know where he is!"

Brenna glanced at Luke. Her father closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again and shook his head at Brenna to show he didn't know. Then he nodded at Elaan to indicate that whatever he was picking up through the Force was being channeled through her.

Luke turned back to the nearly hysterical woman in his arms. She yelled "Aren!" again, and started to push her way past Luke toward the barn again.

Luke held onto her shoulders. "He's not there," he told her.

"Then where—?"

"I don't know," Luke said. "But—"

Elaan twisted free and started toward the woods crying "Aren!"

Luke caught up with her and stopped her. "We'll never find him that way," he said.

"We have to find him."

"We _will_," Luke assured her. "But not that way."

"How—?"

"Through the Force. But _you_ have to do it. He's closest to you, and you're the only one he'd call to for help."

"I cannot—"

"Yes, you can, Brie—" he caught himself and closed his eyes very briefly. "Elaan. I'll help you. But you have to calm down."

"I have never done this before. I do not know how—"

"You _have_ done it before. Remember that 'sense' you have for knowing when there's danger? The feeling that's telling you Aren's in trouble. That's what we're going to use."

"Tell me what to do..." She pleaded with him.

"Okay," Luke nodded. "Just close your eyes. Relax." She closed her eyes. Luke started massaging her temples to help her relax. "Clear your mind," he whispered in her ear. Years ago, Briande had told him how she used visualization as her strongest Force-link. He tried to concentrate on that mode, giving Elaan her own words back, words which she had long ago forgotten. "How do you know that Aren's in trouble?" he asked.

"I do not know. I just _feel_ it."

"Concentrate on that feeling. Try to visualize it as a string of light. At the other end is Aren. Can you see it?"

"No...I am not sure..."

"You're shielding. You're holding...a wall in front of yourself. Let it fall. Aren needs you to reach out to him. Can you see the light?"

Luke felt her intake of breath as she visualized it. There was, as he had hoped, an unconscious memory of how to achieve a telepathic link. "Yes..." she murmured. Then she gasped. "Hurts!"

Luke sensed her withdrawing, putting up a shield against the pain. "Stay with it," he urged. "Elaan, you have to stay with it. Get past the pain. Can you see where he is?"

"Dark..." She sobbed. "My arm hurts."

"I know. Just stay with it a little longer. Can you see anything?"

"I am in...a dark place. There is something holding me here. I cannot move. Something holds me down. It is so heavy! I cannot—cannnot move!" She shook her head and looked at Luke, breaking off the link momentarily.

"Elaan, you have to get Aren to calm down. Can you talk to him?"

"I will try...Aren...Aren, can you hear me?" She hesitated, then sobbed again. "My arm! It hurts!"

This wasn't working. She was too close to Aren. Luke hadn't counted on her compassion-link, the same link she had once shared with her identical twin sister, for whom Brenna was named. Luke tried a different approach. "Elaan, stay with it. Let me talk to Aren."

She nodded, then her face contorted. "It is so dark!"

"Aren, listen to me. I know it hurts, but you have to stay calm. We can't help you unless we know where you are. Tell me where you are."

"I do not want to die!" Elaan sobbed.

Luke took Elaan's face in his hands and shook her. His face took on an angry expression, more out of necessity than from real anger. He was dealing with the boy, not the woman, and he needed to act accordingly. "Aren! If you want to be an adult, start acting like one! Where are you?"

Elaan sniffled. "I am...in..."

"_WHERE?!_"

"In the barn."

Luke and Brenna exchanged glances, then looked back at the barn.

"The old barn." That was Elaan speaking, not Aren. She had broken the link and was already starting for the path to the old house.

Luke started after her, then looked back at Brenna, who was heading back towards the new barn.

"Go ahead," Brenna said. "I'll get the med-kit and follow you."

Elaan picked her way through the overgrown path. The going was rough, forcing them to slow down. Eventually they came to a break in the woods, a clearing overgrown with weeds that contained the remains of a small structure that had long since burned down, and a rotting wooden building that might once have been a barn. It was collapsing now, falling into itself like a black hole. It had probably fallen while Aren was inside, the final disintegration no doubt caused by his weight pressing against rotted supports. Elaan went to the edge of the wreckage and called, "Aren! Aren, where are you?"

There was a faint answer from the depths of the pile of broken boards and rotting wood. The exact words were indiscernible.

"Be brave!" Elaan yelled. "Help is here!" Before Luke could stop her, she scrambled onto the fallen roof and began pulling the boards off one by one, and tossing them as far away as she could. But her weight caused the rotting wood to give way even further, and Luke was afraid that any further collapse might crush the boy underneath, and trap Elaan as well. He went after her, yelling at her to get down and trying not to make the situation any worse than it already was.

When her support began to sink, Elaan realized _why_ he was yelling, and began scrambling back to the edge. But her movement caused it to give way even more, and she screamed as the wood disintegrated beneath her. Luke barely had time to throw himself down to catch her before she fell into the hole. He pulled her out by her arms, then said, "Let's get down from here before the whole thing collapses on top of Aren." She nodded, and Luke led the way down what he judged to be the most stable part of the debris. He jumped down from the roof first, then turned to help Elaan.

For a brief instant, he held her in his arms, and he felt a surge of all the old emotions rushing up inside him. He looked in her eyes but saw only concern for Aren.

"What now?" Elaan asked.

"Can you sense where he is?" Luke asked.

Elaan hesitated a moment, then pointed down towards the center. "There, I think."

Luke motioned her to stay where she was, and walked around the collapsed barn, searching it with his eyes and through the Force for the exact nature of its structure. He decided to work not from the roof, but from a wall that leaned inward. He grabbed one of the boards and broke it off, then grabbed another, and another, making a hole large enough to gain access.

Once inside, Luke squeezed his way past some of the rubble, grabbed a support that was relatively solid—it had once been a wall support, but now leaned sideways—and held onto it as he kicked his way through the floor. From somewhere below, Aren's voice echoed "Help...Help me..."

"What I need now," Luke murmured to himself, "is a rope. And a lamp." He looked around the interior of the section of the barn around him to see what other resources he had at his disposal, when a shadow crossed over him, and a hand holding a coil of rope reached down through the hole in the exterior wall he had made. Luke looked up in surprise, and saw his daughter smiling down at him.

"Ask, and you shall receive," she said. "I've got one more length, but this is the longest."

Luke grinned in response and took the rope, then handed one end of it back up. "See if you can find a tree or something to tie it too. I don't want to stress these beams any more than they already are."

Brenna nodded, paused only long enough to rummage through her shoulder bag and hand him a portable lamp, then disappeared from the hole in the barn wall. Luke fed the other end of the rope through the hole he had made in the floor, then flattened himself along the floor to distribute his weight as best he could, and peered through to the cellar. When he couldn't see much that way, he pulled himself enough to get his head and shoulders through the hole, shined the light around what had once been the barn cellar. He didn't like the movement of dust falling all over the place, or way supports had fallen through the floor, any more than he liked the creaking and groaning he was hearing around him. He could see what looked like part of the main support beam broken off. After a moment, he sensed Brenna's return, and pushed himself back to more solid footing. Now that the rope was tied off, he shimmied down it and shined his light around the rubble. "Aren?" he said softly, afraid that too much noise might make the rest of the barn collapse.

"Over here," came the quiet, frightened response.

Luke shined his light in the direction of the sound, but could see nothing. He picked his way around the mess to the spot where the sound had come from. "Aren?" he said again.

"Here..."

He was hidden underneath a large section of floor that had fallen on top of the broken support beam. Luke used his lightsaber to cut the pieces he could, then heaved the pieces of flooring away with a strength that was both physical and Force-generated, and the boy looked up at him through a face stained with tears and dirt. But he was pinned at the shoulders underneath the beam. It had both trapped him and saved his life by keeping more of the barn from falling on top of him. From the looks of it, cutting through the beam with his lightsaber would cause further collapse. "Don't worry," Luke said softly. "We're going to get you out of here." He shined his light upwards along the beam one more time "Damn," Luke muttered. He considered the situation for a couple seconds more, told Aren, "I'll be right back," then went back to the hole he had made earlier.

Brenna and Elaan both looked down at him.

"He's wedged underneath the main support. Moving it too much might cause the rest of the barn to cave in." He didn't add that a strong gust of wind might do the same thing. To Brenna, he said, "I don't suppose you packed a portable winch, too?"

"Sorry," she apologized.

"It was a joke," Luke assured her. "A bad one, I admit." He drew in a breath. "I can't move the beam without everything else falling in. The beam's too heavy for me to lift, even through the Force. It's got most of the weight of the barn resting on top of it. And even if I could lift the beam, I can't pull Aren out at the same time. Brenna, I'm gonna need your help."

Brenna drew in a quick breath and released it. It was the first time her father had ever asked her to help with anything important, and she wasn't sure how much she could give. "All right." She started to climb through the hole to the inside of the barn, but Luke held his palm out towards her.

"Bringing that rope was an excellent idea. I want you to go back to the barn and get more of it. Every length you can find. Bring the ride-beast, too, and his harness. And some work gloves, if you see any. And a couple of blankets, whatever you can find in a hurry."

She nodded, and took off at a run.

Elaan started to follow Luke inside the hole.

"Stay there," Luke said. "I need you and Brenna to help pull with the ride-beast. We'll use a tree as a pulley, and tie off the rope as soon as the weight of the beam is off Aren. In the meantime, hand me the other rope that Brenna brought."

Luke tied one end of the rope around a secondary beam that was pressing down on the beam pinning Aren, and had Elaan tie the other end around another tree. He hoped it would be enough to keep the beam from falling when the support was moved. All he needed to do was lift the main beam, just a little. When he had the beam tied as best he could, Luke went back down to where Aren was, to reassure the boy until the next phase of the rescue could begin. He took with him a dose of local anesthetic from Brenna's med-kit. It wouldn't be enough to deaden all of the pain, but Luke needed the boy conscious until he could get him out of the barn.

When Brenna returned with the ride-beast and two more coils of rope, they tied off another secondary beam, and then Luke tied one end to the main support. Elaan ran the rope first around one strong tree, using a blanket to smooth the path, and then another, to form a double pulley, and tied the other end to the ride-beast's harness. Then Elaan coaxed the beast and pulled from the front end while Brenna pushed the animal and pulled the rope from the rear.

Inside the barn cellar, Luke had his hands under Aren's shoulders and waited for the beam to lift. He only needed an inch. As soon as he got it, he called to Brenna and Elaan to tie it off, then pulled Aren free, and the boy's scream of pain nearly caused Elaan to abandon the ride beast and go into the derelict barn to her son, but Brenna yelled at her to stay where she was, that she would be of more use outside.

A few minutes later, Luke's head appeared at the hole and called his daughter. She and Elaan lay down and extended hands to pull Aren up, with Luke lifting him from the bottom. Aren's ashen face appeared, and with Brenna pulling on the boy's good arm and Luke pushing him up from below, they got him out of the wreckage. Luke followed, and used his lightsaber to cut at the rubble, and then the ropes to the beams.

What remained of the barn collapsed in on itself with a groan.

Brenna had lain Aren out on the ground. Elaan comforted him while Brenna rummaged in her sack for the med-scanner. She ran the scanner along Aren's arm, looked at the results, then looked at Aren's gray face. She saw the tears of pain in the boy's eyes, and traded the scanner for a hypo. She adjusted the setting, then pressed it against Aren's neck, near the artery. After a moment, Aren's eyes stopped watering, and a huge grin developed on his face.

"Like that, do you?" Brenna asked with a smile.

Aren nodded.

Brenna looked up at her father and Elaan. "His arm's broken, but it's a clean break. It shouldn't be a problem to set. He won't be able to use it for a while, but it will heal."

Elaan let out a sigh of relief and closed her eyes.

"Let's get him on the ride-beast and back to the house," Luke said. They splinted Aren's arm and, with some difficulty, got him astride the animal. Luke started to take the reins, but Elaan took them away from him and handed them to Brenna.

"Can you manage Aren on your own?" she asked Brenna. "I want to talk to your father."

"No problem," Brenna said.

"We'll be along shortly," Luke said.

Elaan waited until Brenna and Aren were out of sight. Then she looked up at Luke. "Thank you," she said.

"You're welcome. I guess we should be getting back, too." Luke didn't want to be alone with Elaan for any length of time. Not while she was another man's wife.

"Not…just yet." Elaan said. "Brenna will manage without us. She is a resourceful young woman, is she not?"

"Yes," Luke agreed.

"A daughter to be proud of."

"Yes," Luke said again, looking at where Brenna had gone, and smiling.

"Even…for a mother who neither can remember her birth, nor was there to raise her."

Luke froze, then slowly turned to face her. "How long have you known?" he asked.

"Nearly from the first."

"Did Brenna tell you?"

"No, not in words. Her actions and gestures merely…confirmed what I suspected. It was you yourself who told me. After I asked you directly, and you told me that 'Skywalker' was dead, I became uncertain. But it was not long after when I finally realized that _you_ were Skywalker. The way you look at me sometimes—it is not the love for a sister I see in your eyes."

Luke's smile was sad. "No, I suppose not. But if you knew, why didn't you say something?"

"It was your wish that I not know. And, truthfully, it was easier to pretend than to deal with the awkwardness of our situation. Aren suspects something, but exactly what, I do not know. Timmon…Timmon has suspicions, I think, but he is afraid to put them into words, because doing so makes them more real."

"So in other words," Luke said wryly, "I haven't fooled anybody. But why tell me this now?"

"Because…I can no longer pretend that what I feel for you in any way resembles 'sisterly' affection." Her eyes welled with tears. "I want you, Luke. More than I have ever wanted anything. Yet I cannot leave Timmon and Aren. They are who I am now. And they need me, more than I need you."

"I understand," Luke said sadly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make it so difficult for you."

"Nor did I mean to make it so difficult for you."

"I made it difficult for myself, Brie—Elaan."

The tears spilled out of her eyes. "I cannot be who you want me to be. I am Elaan, not Briande. Briande, perhaps, could give you a lifetime. Elaan…can only give you tonight."

Luke nodded. He hadn't expected even this much. He framed her face between his hands, and she closed her eyes briefly at his touch. Then she opened them again to meet his gaze and repeated softly, "I can only give you tonight."

Luke put his fingers to her lips. "Every moment I have with you is a treasure. To have a whole night—I would be the richest man in the galaxy."

He moved his fingers from her lips to her cheek and replaced the touch on her lips with his own mouth.

Elaan hands her raised to the front of his shoulders, but as the kiss deepened, she made a sound in her throat and moved her hands to his back to pull him closer, begging him to crush her.

But Luke broke off the kiss from her mouth and moved to her throat. Elaan gasped as his touch stirred vague memories that wouldn't quite reveal themselves, and her body arched with the desire to make a new memory to replace the ones she had lost.

It was well into morning when Brenna looked out the window and saw her parents walking slowly towards the house.

They walked hand in hand, but slowly, and their pace grew slower with each step, as if towards a destination and destiny that neither one wanted, yet which they were still being drawn inexorably towards. There was a heaviness, a sadness, about them that pulled at Brenna's heart. Having so recently found her own hope, it pained her to see her father and mother as if they had lost theirs.

At last they made it to the shelter of the porch, and out of Brenna's view. She didn't see Luke raise his and Elaan's clasped hands and press his mouth to the back of Elaan's hand. He touched his chin to her hand for a moment, then his cheek, and Elaan brought her free hand to caress his other cheek in a silent, mutual farewell.

With the door between them, Brenna couldn't see the tender gestures, and the sound of her starting to open the door from the other side made her parents drop their hands before she could see.

"Aren's asleep," she told them. "I gave him a sedative and another pain killer, then set his arm and injected it with a growth stimulant. He'll have to keep it immobilized for a few days, but he'll be fine."

Luke studied her. "Where did you get first-aid training?"

She shrugged. "You'd be amazed at what came through Croyus Four. You learn things in a hurry."

Elaan reached out and placed her palm against Brenna's cheek. "If I could choose among all people the one I would most want for a daughter, it would be you. Thank you for helping Aren."

Brenna looked at her father. He nodded. "She knows," he said.

Brenna let out a breath, and some of the heaviness seemed to dissipate. "I wanted to tell you," she said.

"I know," Elaan answered.

Luke put his hand on Brenna's arm and gently drew her away. "Bren, can I speak with you for a minute?"

Once they were alone, he said quietly, "Elaan…knows who we are. I can't stay here any longer. I have to leave."

She tried not to let the disappointment show on her face. "I'll go pack our things."

She started to turn away, but Luke stopped her. "No, wait. _I_ can't stay. _You_ can...if you want."

That startled her. "I can?"

Luke nodded. "Elaan can give you a home here, both you and the child. I'll get Rupert to bring me back, and we'll leave the shuttle where it crashed originally. It's out of the way, and unlikely to be discovered, especially if we add a little modern technology to hide it. You can stay as long as you want, and leave whenever you like. You can spend the rest of your life here, if you want, but I do hope you'll come back to see your old man from time to time and bring my grandkid with you. But you can stay. The choice is yours."

Brenna stared at him for a moment. "Are you trying to get rid of me?"

Luke almost smiled. "Never. But I want you to be happy. _I_ can't decide which choice is best for you; I can only offer it."

Brenna shook her head. "I don't belong here, Dad. It's beautiful here, and I'm…glad to have gotten to know Elaan. But…I don't belong here. I have things to do back on Croyus Four, and…I want to do the right thing by that old man."

Luke stroked her hair, and this time he did smile. He kissed the top of her head and said, "All right, then, go say goodbye to your mother, and I'll go pack."


	14. Chapter 14

**The Face in the Shadows**

**Chapter Fourteen**

They could have continued on to their ship, but Elaan had given Luke enough of the local currency to pay for a room and a couple of meals, and Brenna was looking a little pale—probably due to her pregnancy and the fact that she had walked the entire distance. Luke decided, and Brenna had no reason to disagree, that they would spend the night at the same inn where they had first met Elaan and Timmon, before finishing the journey to the shuttle. They rested, ate, and had just returned to the room when Luke sensed something through the Force.

"What is it?" Brenna asked.

"It's Elaan. Something's wrong." The closeness he had recently shared with Elaan combined with the previous closeness he had shared with Briande let him connect with her telepathically. It was difficult, because whereas Briande had been trained, Elaan had not, and was unable to send more than an elemental message. "She wants us to wait here."

"Why?"

Luke shook his head. "I don't know."

"Could she have changed her mind about coming with us?"

"I doubt it. Elaan isn't the type. And there was a…sense of urgency in her sending. I don't know what it is."

"Sniffers?"

"I don't sense them if they're nearby." He gestured to the bed. "Why don't you get some rest. I'll wake you when she gets here."

"I don't think I can sleep."

"Well…rest anyway. Your baby needs it, and I've got a feeling it's going to be a while before you get another chance."

Brenna let out a breath and lay down on the bed as her father advised. At first, she didn't think she'd be able to sleep. But the wait and her exhaustion did their work, and before an hour passed, she was asleep.

Luke sat on the floor in a meditative pose that he found almost as restful as sleep, and waited. It was nearly dawn before the feeling he had been waiting for came, and he rose to his feet and moved to the window. Then, up the street, he saw it: the ride-beast being ridden by Elaan.

As Elaan drew closer, she looked up at the window, and she and Luke made eye contact. Luke nodded, and Elaan breathed in relief. Being untrained, there was a difference between hoping in the Force and seeing with her own eyes.

Luke turned from the window and went to the bed and shook Brenna gently by the shoulders. "Wake up," he said.

Brenna mumbled something and rolled over, then opened her eyes. "Is it time?" she asked.

"It's time," Luke replied.

Brenna sat up and adjusted her clothing. "I can't believe I slept."

Luke smiled. "You were tired."

"Do you know what the problem is yet?"

"No. Couple more minutes, and we'll both know."

Those couple of minutes seemed like hours. But finally, there was a soft rap at the door. Luke opened it immediately. Elaan stood there. Luke ushered her inside, then shut the door.

"What happened?" Luke asked.

"Timmon," Elaan said. "He has been captured by the bonders."

Since Timmon was a non-sensitive, Elaan had only learned of his capture when their niece's fiancé, named Sandin, had come to Elaan's farm with the news that Timmon had been captured by the bonders, and that Sandin and Timmon's brother Doran had only narrowly escaped. Doran was at his own farm now, suffering from wounds he had sustained while fighting the bonders, and Sandin had escaped relatively unharmed due to Doran's quick thinking, but Timmon was now in the bonders' hands. The most probable scenario was that Timmon would be taken to a 'bonder's fair' some distance away, and auctioned off to the highest bidder.

"Will you help me?" Elaan asked Luke.

"Of course we will," Luke replied. "The only question is how. Tell me everything you know about this 'bonder's fair.'"

Elaan talked until nearly midday, telling everything she knew about the fair, a sort of week long event in which those in debt could bond themselves to various bondmasters, and criminals were auctioned. Luke asked about the probable number of guards, probable armament of the guards, how Timmon would most likely be held, and other questions whose answers Elaan could only guess at. By the time she finished relating every detail she could think of and answering Luke's questions about the few she missed, the sun was high in the sky.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. It was not unexpected, since Elaan had left instructions with Aren to borrow his uncle's ride-beast, load it with as much travel gear, food, and extra clothing as he could manage, and make his way here as quickly as he could. But the multiple presences Luke felt on the other side of the door _was_ unexpected.

Luke motioned Elaan to the side, away from the front of the door. He put his hand on his lightsaber. "Who is it?" he called.

"Aren," replied the expected voice.

"And Ranaad," a familiar female voice called from the other side of the door.

"And Kayleen and Sandin," said another female voice Luke recognized. Luke sighed, and put his lightsaber back on his belt and opened the door.

The young foursome stood there, and Luke ushered them in and closed the door again. He held his hand out to the young man whom he had not yet met, and said, "Sandin, I presume?"

"Yes."

As he shook hands with the young man, Luke gave him a light Force-scan. Luke sensed only concern and earnestness, no deception. Unless Sandin was a Force-Shield like Brenna, which was highly unlikely, the young man was everything he appeared to be.

"We want to help," Ranaad said.

Luke nodded, but he wasn't sure whether expanding the group to seven would be a help, or a hindrance. As the group gave Elaan the details of the provisions they had brought with them, Luke pondered the various options, and weighed the risks of each, and the make-up of the group. When he learned that the group's "travel provisions" included their musical instruments, a better idea took hold. He considered that idea for a minute, then asked, "Would anybody have any objections if we simply _buy_ Timmon back?"

Elaan shook her head. "I have not nearly enough money. Even if there were time to sell the farm before the bonder's fair, it would not bring enough to even hope to purchase him."

"No, I mean if there _were_ enough money, would you have any objections?"

Elaan thought for a moment, then shook her head again. "I have reservations, not objections. I have no wish to aid the bonders in their profit from Timmon, but if it were possible to buy him back, I would do it."

"Good," Luke said. "That's 'Plan A.'"


	15. Chapter 15

**The Face in the Shadows**

**Chapter Fifteen**

"Plan A" was simple enough: they would simply _steal_ from the bonders what they needed to buy Timmon at the auction. Luke preferred this plan as the least likely to cause bloodshed or harm. "Plan B" was even simpler: it was hanging on his belt. But on this technologically backward world, Luke didn't want to start some weird new religion with his lightsaber, or worse, a cult, and in addition to his own distaste for bloodshed, there was Brenna to consider who still felt guilty over Etan Lippa. So "Plan A" it would be, but he'd keep his weapon with him, or at least nearby, as a contingency.

Plan A also had the advantage of involving everyone in the group, and putting to good use the musical talents and instruments they had brought. A band of travelling musicians was as good a cover as any. Even Brenna could be part of the group as a dancer, to entertain visually while the others entertained musically, and Kayleen and Ranaad could also take turns dancing. Luke himself would pose as a bonder. He would use a good chunk of the funds Elaan and Ranaad had brought to commission a "bonder's ring" from a metal worker to "replace" one he had "lost," as they drew closer to the bonder's fair, more importantly, further from Elaan and Aren's home. Luke intended to reserve all the "dirty work" of Plan A for himself, but when he voiced that intention to the others, he met with protest from all of them. They _all_ wanted a hand in the riskiest portion of the rescue. He quelled them by offering a "contest." While on the road, the group would try stealing from each other. After a day or two of practice, the contest would begin in earnest. Anyone caught by another member of the group was "out." Of those left, the two who had the most money would be the designated "thieves." Everyone else would provide the entertainment cover, distractions when needed, and otherwise provide assistance when the need arose.

The seven of them traveled during the day and made camp at dusk. The addition of Doran's ride-beast was both a blessing and a potential problem. Doran's horse, as the better-looking animal, would be Luke's "bondsman's" mount, and Elaan's animal would be the "troupe's" pack beast. To keep risk of exposure and recognition to a minimum, while they were traveling as a troupe, Luke kept the hood of his cloak up and tried to stay in the middle of the group during the day, and suggested that Doran's animal be kept dusty as well. He could always claim that he "bought" the animal from the troupe, if it came to that, but only if no one recognized him as being _with_ the group.

One thing Luke noticed was that when they passed through a town, Brenna's eyes were usually on the ground, and every now and then, she would stoop to pick up something from the dirt, especially when they passed by a metal-worker's shop. And at night, when they were well away from other eyes, she borrowed Luke's lightsaber, adjusted the blade as thin as it would go, and seared holes into the bits of metal. When Luke saw how she was sewing them onto one of Elaan's old shawls, he grinned. At the very next town, he sent Sandin with some currency and orders to buy anything cheap but useful, and bring back as much lower-denomination change as he could manage. After Luke made an assembly-line of punching holes into the coins, the women in the camp was kept busy sewing coins onto shawls to wear around their hips, so that they would _jingle_ when they walked or danced.

A _jingle_ could very nicely cover up the sound of coins dropping as they were being stolen, and Luke made sure to praise Brenna for her ingenuity.

Luke worried about the time it was taking to get to the bonder's fair. He had hoped to arrive in the early days of the fair, to become "established" before the serious work began, but the larger group was slower moving. Meanwhile, the "stealing" contest began in earnest. Aren was the first one "out," which was hardly surprising, given that his arm was still healing. Sandin was next, with his large, beefy hands making it more difficult for him to manage delicate grabs. Kayleen's and Ranaad's hands were apparently as dexterous with purse strings as they were with the mandolin and needle and thread, and eventually it was down to the two of them, Brenna, and Luke.

But as they camped in a clearing near the road, Luke felt a familiar and welcome presence that would simultaneously add one additional member to the group, and greatly increase their odds of making "Plan A" work, and even "Plan B" if it came to that.

Luke sat a distance away from the fire and scanned the skies. Because he was looking for it, he found the barely discernable dark cloud momentarily blocking the stars overhead, and smiled. Brenna saw his expression and asked why he was smiling.

"Rupert's here," he replied.

Rupert found a clearing wide enough to land the _Falcon_ that wasn't more than a half-mile from the group. He had landed in the middle of the night when the noise from the engines was least likely to be detected by outsiders, and Luke had the group break camp and head for it. Except for Brenna, the others were awed by the star freightor, and were somewhat nervous about entering it, but with Luke and Brenna's assurances, and Rupert's help with the non-human creatures of the party, they finally got the animals in a cargo hold and everyone on board.

Luke was glad of the time they'd shave off the trip, and glad of the additional lightsaber, as well. Once they were airborn, he searched the scanners for a suitable landing site, away from the traveled roads and yet close enough to be able to reach them.

"Nice trick with the fog cloud," he commented.

Rupert shrugged. "One of Dad's. Turn off the main thruster and all exterior lights, only use a couple of boosters, throw in some moisture vapor, and you have to be in just the right place at just the right time to see her. You don't have any speed, but you're much less visible. Still have the noise, though. And it won't fool scanners. But I figured it was the best option here."

"You figured right." Luke found a spot about a day and a half's march from the bonder's fair, maybe several hours down to the road from the tree-lined mountain clearing. "There?" he pointed.

Rupert checked another scanner for life signs. "No humanoids that I can detect. Looks like as good a place as any." He set the _Falcon_ down and powered off. "Stay here the rest of the night?"

"Sure," Luke said. "I don't want to try hiking them down in the dark. Too many easy missteps. Besides," he looked at him, "Brenna has something important to tell you."

Luke stretched in the bed in the co-pilots cabin, enjoying the luxury. There was something to be said for sleeping in a Wookiee-size bed. A person could _swim_ in it if it were filled with water instead of bed-stuff. Another time, he might linger. Maybe when they returned to Medea. But right now there was much to do, and Rupert was awake. And troubled. And probably needed to talk.

He found Rupert in the cockpit, staring at the dark shadows of the trees against the dark gray of the early dawn. "Is it true?" the younger man asked, even before Luke had the privacy door closed.

"I'm afraid so," Luke replied, sliding into the co-pilot's seat.

"I'm…Brenna seems to think it's a _good_ thing."

"It _is_. From _her_ point of view, at least."

"And from yours?"

Luke shrugged. "Mine, too.

"But my-Sweet Deities-was Palpatine _really_ my father?"

"I doubt anyone would ever be able to prove it, but yes, I think he was. If it makes you feel any better, I've no doubt that you would have been one of the countless offspring he destroyed, had he lived long enough."

"Mom will hate me."

Luke smiled. "Trust me, if anyone can handle this news, it's Leia." And he told Rupert why.

"And Dad?"

"He won't believe it. He'll just think you have an exaggerated sense of self-importance."

Rupert snorted.

Luke raised his eyebrows. "It's true. Oh, he'll think _you_ believe it, all right, but beyond that, he thinks that the Jedi are a self-delusional lot, never mind what his own eyes and ears tell him."

Rupert sat back, staring at nothing, and Luke leaned forward and looked at him, trying to help him focus. "Look, Rupert, I wouldn't go around telling _everybody_, but to the people who matter, it _won't_ matter. You're not your father, any more than I am mine. Who you are is made up of your _own_ choices, and unless you've got some hitherto unexpressed desire to take over the galaxy, it's just…something you'll have to learn to live with. It'll bother you, sure, but it won't define you. Not unless you want it to."

"I don't want it to. I just want…Brenna."

Luke relaxed and settled back in his seat. "That's fine, Rupert. As long as she wants you, that's just fine."

There was a long silence between them. Finally, Rupert said quietly, "I'm not sure I'm ready to be a father."

Luke chuckled. "Nobody ever is, Rue. But I suspect you'll be a lot better at it than _I_ ever was."


	16. Chapter 16

**The Face in the Shadows**

**Chapter 16**

They added to their provisions from the _Falcon's_ stores, whatever they could carry that wasn't too out of place for their role with the exception of a pair of blasters well hidden in bed ticks and a homing device to get them back to the _Falcon_, also hidden, and headed down the mountain to the road. Once on the road, Rupert motioned for Luke to hang back at the end of the group, and whispered in his ear. "I wouldn't trust that Ranaad girl," he said.

"Why not?"

"I just saw her stealing her sister's purse."

Luke grinned and did something Rupert didn't expect. He yelled to the front of the group, "You're 'out,' Ranaad! Rupert saw you taking from Kayleen."

Ranaad groaned, acknowledging defeat. Left in the game now were Kayleen, who now was also effectively 'out' because she had nothing left for anyone else to steal, Elaan, Luke, and Brenna. At Rupert's confusion, Luke suggested he talk to Brenna to find out what was going on, and Luke made the general announcement that the game would end that night when they made camp.

The day was pretty much uneventful except for two minor incidents. First, Elaan left the trail to examine some newly dead animal's carcass, and seemed somewhat excited about something. She called to Aren for an empty jar, which she apparently thought was an essential travel provision, and extracted something from the corpse. Luke asked her what it was, and she replied that it was a "flesh-worm" and held up the jar for him to see a small insect larvae wiggling inside, before packing it in her ride-beast's saddle bag.

The other incident involved a snake that slithered across the road in front of one of the ride-beasts, startling the beast and causing it to rear. Rupert calmed the beast quickly, and the whole thing was nothing more than a momentary delay.

Odd, but Luke had the feeling that neither the snake's crossing nor the ride-beast's reaction had been accidental.

As the sun grew low, Luke suggested camping in a small clearing by the road, but Rupert shook his head and told him there was a better spot another mile further along. Luke glanced up, saw the hawk circling overhead, and deferred to Rupert's better vantage point.

Once the tents were pitched and the fire was going, Luke had everyone sit in a circle and asked them to produce their plunder. Aren, Sandin, Kayleen, and Ranaad spread their hands in self-acknowledged defeat. Elaan shook her head in surprise. She'd _had_ a purse, but it was gone now. Brenna reached under her jingling hip scarf into her skirt pocket, and her eyes widened in surprise as she realized her purse contained not the higher denomination coins she was expecting, but the lower denomination ones she'd been sewing into her clothes. Luke smiled and produced from the inner folds of his robe, his own purse, Aren's, Sandin's, Ranaad's, and-where was the other? He'd had Kayleen's, too, but it was gone now. There was a momentary confusion while everyone looked from one to another for the missing three purses, but then they all realized that there was only one person who _wasn't_ looking for the missing purses.

Rupert looked up from where he was nonchalantly throwing more wood onto the fire, and said, "What, I can't play, too?" He glanced at the woods, and three wolf-like animals emerged, each carrying something in its mouth, and the natives in the group drew back nervously. Rupert had the animals deposit their loads at Luke's feet, and retreat back to the woods. Rupert continued to throw more sticks onto the fire and looked at Luke. "You weren't the only one to ever teach me anything, you know.

Luke laughed. Han Solo – smuggler, thief, blockade runner, resistance leader, and all-around scoundrel – had taught his adopted son how to pick pockets.


	17. Chapter 17

The Face in the Shadows

Chapter 17

The final touches to "Plan A" were that Rupert would play the part of Luke's son, and the two of them would ride to the fair, get a room, scope the venue out, commission a bonder's ring, be seen, and basically wait for the others to arrive on foot. Meanwhile, the others would travel more slowly, making as much ruckus as they could along the way, as a legitimate entertainment troupe might do, pitch camp, and put on a number of legitimate performances. Eventually, Luke & Rupert would work their way to the troupe, and then the real "fun" would begin.

Brenna came up with the design for a bonder's ring, by smushing the letters JEDI together into a single shape. The design was transferred to a scrap of parchment, and Luke was ready to go.

The first order of business was the room. Luke wanted a degree of privacy, and Elaan had told him that it was customary for bonders to rent a room for the duration. Luke found one of the less disreputable offerings, somewhat more expensive than the others, with walls and floors that appeared more solid than most and had a stable with a young guard to stand watch over the ride-beasts. Leaving nothing of any real value in the room, Luke and Rupert went in search of a metal worker. They found one that even had an advertisement for bonders' rings. Before commissioning one, Luke hung around several different tents to listen and observe the bargaining protocols, which were nothing unique: offer about half of what the seller was asking, and settle at about ¾ of the original asking price. The ring was ordered, paid for by half, with a promise of a bonus if it was completed quickly. Luke's finger was measured, and Luke and Rupert were off to continue their scouting mission.

He had decided earlier against doing anything more than recon at this stage. He didn't want rumors of skilled thieves to get around before the biggest prizes were to be had. Rupert, meanwhile, was making note of where the wealthier bondsmen seemed to be staying, and communing with the local rodent population as possible accomplices for his upcoming criminal activities, since rodents could scurry into and out of places that no human could go.

The troupe arrived late the next day and staked a claim on a grassy knoll on the outskirts of the bonders' lodgings, pitching their tents as far apart as they could in a semi-circle to claim as much space as they could for both a performance area and not coincidentally, a measure of privacy. Brenna and Elaan shared the first tent, Sandin and Aren the next, and Ranaad and Kayleen the last. Elaan told them they were free to explore as long as they went in groups of two or more, and as long as at least two people stayed with the camp. Elaan herself went alone, but not until she had collected the coccoon that she had collected on the road.

Rather than just looking at the "lay of the land," as the others were, Elaan was looking for something in particular, a tent. She found it amid a small group of tents set in a semi-circle much like their own, but this tent had a couple of make-shift benches outside. The tent flaps were closed. But attached to the post was an herb-crafter's mark, a wooden sign with a picture of a pestle, and a rough mallet attached to the sign with a thin rope. Elaan grasped the handle and beat the mallet against the sign.

"A moment, if you please," said a tired, muffled voice from within. A moment later, the flap opened and a boy's young head peered up at her. "Yes?" The boy's face had a scar, what looked like a very old burn mark, that began on his cheek and ran down his neck to disappear inside his shirt collar.

"I seek the herb-crafter," Elaan said.

"You have found me," the boy replied.

Elaan's eyebrows raised. "You are not an apprentice, then?"

"No, Milady," said the boy. "I am the crafter himself. How may I serve you?"

"May I come inside?" Elaan asked, indicating the tent.

The boy held open the flap, and Elaan crouched to enter. There were a number of jars filled with different liquids set on the floor in a semblance of organization, the few jars containing the same color contents grouped together. There was also a wooden trunk, with a few miscellaneous paper packets on it. One of the packets was open, and Elaan recognized the contents as the dried leaves of a plant that made a soothing tea. Although it was a two-man tent, with the trunk and the jars there was barely enough room for one person to sleep, or two to sit facing each other on the floor. There was no furniture besides the trunk.

"I have very little to offer," the boy said, "only some simple medicines to ease a cold or reduce a favor or soothe a babe's gums. Yet they are for sale, if you wish to purchase. Ten coppers apiece. I offer a discount in exchange for certain herbs, fresh or dried, and other ingredients I need for my craftings. I also barter for food and supplies."

Elaan smiled. The prices were less than she expected, and the fact that the boy was willing to barter was a good indication that anyone who came to him for help did not leave empty-handed. "What, no magical herbs? No powdered dragons' teeth?"

"I sold those yesterday," the boy said dryly.

"You are very young to be a crafter," Elaan observed.

"I was raised to it, milady. What you see I have been crafting since nearly the age I learned to walk. Forgive me for being blunt, milady, but if there is no way in which I may serve you, I should be glad of my rest."

"Then I shall state my business as briefly as I am able. I had thought, perhaps, that _I_ might be of some small service to _you_." She reached inside her belt pouch and delicately withdrew the tiny cocoon she had taken from the wounded animal along the road. She held it in her palm to show the boy. "Do you know what this is?"

The boy stared for a moment at her hand, then up at her. "I do, milady. But I have not seen a flesh-worm pupae in many months."

"You know its use, then?"

"I do," the boy said.

"Then it is yours." She carefully held it out to him.

The boy took it as carefully as it was given, so as not to harm the fragile creature inside. "Milady, nearly every copper I earn goes to my companions in exchange for the…" he hesitated momentarily, "for the privilege of traveling with them. But I would be glad to let you take anything you see here in exchange."

"A gift," Elaan said, shaking her head. "From one of the craft to another."

"You are a healer, then?" The boy's face broke into a smile. "Milady, I am honored to have you in my tent."

"The honor is mine," Elaan replied.

"Will you take tea with me, at least? I have just put water on to warm."

"Gladly," Elaan said, "if you tell me your name."

"If you please, milady, I am called Jenin."

Elaan laughed. "Whether I please or no, 'Jenin' it is. Well, Jenin, I am Elaan."

Jenin returned the smile. "Lady Elaan, give me but a moment, and I am yours."

Elaan spread her arms. "Very well, then."

Jenin put the flesh-worm pupae on top of a jar, went to his trunk, and with practiced speed removed the paper holding the tea leaves and the other folded papers, removed the mortar and pestle, and opened the trunk. He rummaged for a moment, then came up with a teapot and a single cup, which he set aside, rummaged for another second, and came up with a small box, which he opened, and carefully placed the flesh-worm inside it. Then he closed the small box inside the trunk, picked up the teapot, and poured an amount of dried tea leaves into it, which he measured by eye, then handed the cup to Elaan.

"Will you not drink as well?" Elaan asked, motioning to the single cup.

Jenin shrugged. "I have only the one cup, which I save for company such as yourself. As for myself, I shall use the cup that suits me best." He indicated his mortar.

"Yes," Elaan smiled. "It does suit you."

"I shall only be a moment," Jenin promised, and ducked out of the tent.

Elaan used the opportunity to study her surroundings. The trunk was an interesting one. It was as tall as it was wide, about 2 feet, and twice as long. It had wheels on the back, and a handle that swiveled up or down, and a hinged piece on the front that locked down to keep the trunk level when it wasn't being pulled or pushed. When locked down, the hinged piece revealed a drawer at the bottom. When locked up for travel, it prevented the drawer from opening. It was an ingenious piece of craftsmanship. Elaan wondered whether Jenin had designed it himself, or if someone else had designed it for him, but it was perfect for a traveling herb-crafter's use.

As for the boy himself, he was honest about his abilities, and Elaan liked him for that. Many of the charlatans would promise miraculous cures from fantastical concoctions. The scar on the boy's face was obviously very old, and marred what otherwise would have been a sweet, pleasant face. It was too bad, really, because so many of the young people did not look past the physical features when they were of an age to marry, and the boy might have a difficult time finding someone who could appreciate him for his skills rather than his appearance.

He returned after a moment, bearing a metal kettle whose contents he poured into the china pot. He set the kettle on a flat slate that he obviously used for the purpose, and set the china pot on the trunk, which apparently doubled as a table.

"Now, milady," Jenin said, "while we wait for our tea to brew, let us talk. There are those in the craft who believe that the recipes of the crafting should remain secret. I am not one of them. Are you?"

"No," Elaan replied. "Perhaps we can trade recipes. I know the crafting of tablets to soothe sore throats."

"Does it use honey as a base?"

"Yes."

"I know the crafting, as well."

"A paste for wounds, for preventing infection?"

"I know eight recipes for the treating of wounds."

"A medicine to calm an upset stomach?"

"To calm a stomach, to firm stools, to retain fluids."

Elaan raised her hands. "Those are my best recipes."

Jenin smiled. "Most crafters I have met do not know so many. Is there any particular remedy _I_ might have that would be of interest to you?"

"I have heard," Elaan said, "That there is a crafting to prevent the conception of a child. Do you know it?"

Jenin smiled. "It is my most oft-requested remedy, but the crafting of it is difficult, and some of the ingredients difficult to obtain. The parts must be combined just so, and the whole mixture warmed but not to boiling. The remedy is applied, not swallowed, and before engaging in marital activities, not after. Does this seem like what you seek?"

"Yes," said Elaan. "But how difficult is the crafting?"

Jenin bit his lip. Then he leaned forward and whispered, "Lady Elaan, do you read? There are many of the craft who do even though it is forbidden."

"I do," Elaan whispered back. "And all those of my family, as well."

"Milady, if you would step outside for but a moment, I have something that may help in the crafting."

Elaan nodded, and stood up and went outside. A few minutes later Jenin opened the tent flap and invited her back inside. On the trunk, beside the teapot, were several sheets of paper with writing on them, and a small opened packet containing a few seeds which Elaan did not recognize. The open packet also had a hand-drawn sketch of a leaf along with a symbolic representation of the sun and five tally marks next to a drawing of a tilted watering can with drops of water coming from the spout.

"These are the instructions for the crafting," Jenin said, pointing to the papers that had not been folded. "Read them and tell me if there is anything you do not understand."

Elaan read through the papers. Most of the ingredients were common enough for an herb-crafter, except there was one she didn't recognize. "I have never seen this herb valentia." She pointed to the packet with the seeds. "Is this it?"

"Yes, milady. The seeds are yours if you can care for them properly, but too valuable to waste. There are certain of my customers to whom I give seeds and plantings to care for in exchange for crafted medicines. I keep a record of their names and villages, so that I may ask for them the next time I pass that way."

"I do not live nearby," Elaan confessed. "I live a day's journey from Hogarth, in the northern region, near the village of Brant, along the Elgood road."

"I may pass that way," Jenin said. "Keep the seeds, if you will care for them. The herb will grow even in winter if you keep it indoors. It wants sun, and water it well on every fifth day. Harvest the leaves with the seeds about every sixth week, and replant half the seeds in fresh soil. Save the other half for craftings. Dry the leaves well before you use them. Do this, and I would be in your debt."

Elaan nodded and carefully refolded the packet around the seeds. Then she indicated the papers. "Would you still be able to craft the remedy if I take these?"

Jenin smiled. "Milady, I have the recipe memorized. It is only…a hobby of mine to write it down, in hopes of preserving the craft for generations for come. I should be very glad for you to take that. And any others you may not know the crafting of. But it will cost you in herbs should I pass your way."

"A bargain," Elaan replied. "You would have the herbs in any case."

As Luke scouted the fair, he felt a presence – nothing sinister, and no waves of activity in the Force, jues the benign sense of being that indicated there was a sensitive nearby. He wasn't really worried. There was no such sense coming from the encampment, thanks to the gifts of the Shielders, and no sense of urgency, but it was something to keep in the back of his mind.

But…there was another tickle, too…something or someone farther off that was perhaps _not_ so benign. _That_ feeling, he _would_ have to monitor.

When night fell, he told Rupert to get some rest while he continued his patrol, keeping the encampment in his periphery. But he didn't see the dark shadow creeping toward the tent that Kayleen and Ranaad shared, so it took him a second to realize that the muffled cries from the tent indicated something was wrong. He reacted quickly and was in the camp just as the others were about to enter Ranaad and Kayleen's tent. Luke waved them back and dove through the flaps, but by then it was all over. One of the fair's less savory characters had thought to make an easy "score" on one of the women, apparently picking Ranaad and Kayleen as the easiest targets. He had gained access to the girl's tent, managed to climb on top of Kayleen while threatening both with a sharp knife. Elaan had woken to the feeling of danger, raced into the tent armed with nothing more than a cooking pot, and subdued the intruder. The end result was that the intruder was now unconscious on the tent floor, the girls were frightened but otherwise unharmed, and Elaan had a nasty knife wound on her hand. Luke took a moment to ensure that the would-be rapist wouldn't be any more of a problem, and then turned his attention to Elaan, who was binding her hand with a rag, partly to stench the flow of blood, and partly to hide the gash from the other two girls, who were already scared out of their wits. Luke herded the girls out the door, warning them to go quietly to the other tents, then turned his attention to Elaan.

"Let's take a look at that," he said indicating her hand.

"Not here," Elaan said.

Luke glanced at the body, attributing her reluctance to its proximity. "Anywhere you like."

"What about him?" she asked with a tilt of her head.

"Rupert is on his way. He and I will take care of that after your hand is taken care of.

When Rupert arrived, Luke told him just to stand guard until he returned, and Luke let Elaan lead him out of the encampment. "The herb-crafter's tent is here," Elaan said, grasping the mallet to wrap for attention. "The boy whose tent this is may have an herb-crafting that will help."

But Luke took the mallet out of her hand and let it dangle. He led her to the rough waiting area. "We don't need herbs," he said. "Let's have a look." He reached for the rag.

Elaan bit back a gasp of pain as the cloth pulled away from the wound. "Sorry," Luke apologized softly. He looked at the cut for a moment, then held Elaan's hand with both of his own on either side of the wound, and closed his eyes.

Gradually, Elaan felt the pain subside, and a warmth spread across her hand. The tension left her body as most of the pain receded, and she sighed.

Luke gave her as much as he could, but it was draining him, and the dawn was threatening, and there was work to do. "I'll do more tomorrow night," Luke promised, "but we have to take care of your intruder."

Elaan nodded understanding.

"Try not to use that hand. It's safe to wash, but the fibers aren't strong yet. No flute-playing, or anything else that requires use of that hand. And from now on, I want Rupert to stay in the camp at night."

Elaan smiled. "I suspect Brenna might appreciate that."

Luke's mouth quirked slightly. "I hope she does. But not right now. If he gets too distracted, he may let his guard down."

Elaan raised her eyebrows. "From the way I have seen him look at her, it may be _more_ of a distraction to keep them apart."

Luke thought about that. "You may be right," he said. "We'll leave that for the two of them to decide."

"As it _should_ be," Elaan said.

As they started back toward the camp, Elaan felt an odd tickle, as if someone were watching them. Luke might have felt it too, had the healing not taken a toll on him. But when Elaan turned around to look, there was nothing there, except, perhaps, a wisp of breeze barely moving the flap of the herb crafter's tent.


	18. Chapter 18

**The Face in the Shadows**

Chapter 18

The next day's discovery of a body in the woods well away from the troupe's encampment did not cause much of a stir, Luke was dismayed to learn, which made him doubly glad he was assigning Rupert to protect the camp. The younger Jedi had eyes and ears beyond his own at his disposal, and if any outsiders noticed the presence of animals in the camp, the creatures would simply be seen as scavengers.

Luke decided the story would be that Rupert would develop an attraction for Brenna, and that would provide the excuse for him to share her tent. He'd seen a number of bondsmen emerging from the tents of encamped women, and didn't think it would be particularly out of place.

As it approached the appointed hour, Luke and Rupert adjusted their wanderings to be near the encampment. The musicians in the group were already playing, and most of the passersby gave them only mild interest, even when Ranaad and Kayleen danced an energetic jig to particularly rousing piece. Then Aren began playing a slow-tempo drum solo to a rhythm Brenna had taught him on the road, and Brenna, who had been keeping time with a tambourine-type of instrument, stood up. After a couple of measures, Brenna began swaying her hips in a slow, sensuous movement that the locals were unused to seeing.

Apparently Rupert was unused to seeing it as well, because when he saw her dance, his eyes widened in unfeigned interest. "Oh, yeah…" he murmured, taking a step towards her.

Luke pulled him back. "Just remember the mission."

"'Mission'?" Rupert echoed. "Oh…yeah. 'Mission.'"

"Stealing from the bondsmen and keeping the others safe, remember?"

"Sure," Rupert grinned. "Got it covered."

Luke sighed and looked back at his daughter. Her pregnancy gave her a woman's curves, and the dance emphasized her femininity and sensuality. A crowd was starting to gather to watch her. Not just bonders, but also a number of fremmin were gathering. _Good_, Luke thought. The larger the audience, the better, for his purposes.

"Can I go now?" Rupert asked.

"Mission," Luke said with a nod.

Rupert gave him a thumbs-up and a grin. Luke wondered fleetingly whether Rupert's 'mission' was the same as the stated one, but he didn't really think Rupert would do anything to jeopardize the actual mission.

Luke watched from a distance as Rupert joined the crowd and Brenna pretended to ignore him until he "offered" her a coin, and she swayed over to dance in front of him momentarily, until another man produced a coin. Well, even from this angle, there wouldn't be any need for Rupert's _pretending_ to develop an attraction to her, and Brenna was playing _her_ part well.

Luke saw Elaan whisper something to Kayleen, who picked up a basket and went to collect the money that was being offered to Brenna for her dance.

After a while, Luke himself wandered toward the encampment. The crowd waxed and waned, depending on whether or not Brenna was dancing, and at the moment, she was not. But he knew from the rehearsals on the road that Brenna would be dancing next, and he wanted a quick word with her.

A fairly quick-tempoed melody started, something they had made up on the road from another rhythm Brenna had taught them, and Brenna emerged from her tent wearing her hip scarf. She saw Luke and jingled toward him, stopping in front of him to perform some hip accents.

Luke took out a small denomination coin and handed it to her.

"That's _it_?" she teased in a whisper. "I'm worth more than _that_."

Luke allowed a small smile. He was glad to see her sense of humor. "You're not dancing for _me_," he whispered back. "But the guy with the silver-tipped walking stick – the next time he comes back, give him something to take his mind off that purse he's carrying, will you?"

Brenna backed away with a shoulder shimmy and a smile, and worked her way across the patrons who were starting to accumulate, and over to where her target was returning. She gave Aren a small wave, and accompanied by a drum accent, did a dramatic drop to fall onto her knees and back right in front of her target.

Then she started undulating and snaking her arms. Luke tried to connect with Rupert's eyes, to no avail. Then Brenna made some gestures with her hands, passing from one to another through a vulgar gesture that the locals were unlikely to know but Rupert was surely familiar with, probably reprimanding Rupert for not keeping his mind on business, and Rupert finally looked up.

Luke made a subtle gesture with his fingers, and Rupert pretended to look for a better view, which took him directly behind the intended mark. Luke, meanwhile, was manipulating the purse strings while levitating it in infinitesimal increments. When it was free of the bonder's belt, Luke floated it to Rupert, who hid any view of its travel with his body until he could unobtrusively collect it.

Luke smiled. Their first theft was accomplished smoothly, and the bonder would never know what hit him.

Several hours and a number of purses later, Luke signaled to Rupert that it was time to spread some of the larceny around. Despite Brenna's exceptional aptitude for causing distraction, he didn't want the thefts to be exclusively associated with the troupe. Luke wanted to work in the bonding area for a while, figuring that the disappearance of funds before a bondservant could be bought could only be a good thing.

There was plenty of propaganda to be had here, bondservants touting the benefits of being bonded to near-starving individuals. Elaan had already told him about the deplorable conditions of the "free housing" and the half-rotted quality of the "free food." But desperation and the promise of a better life lured a large number of men and women to the booths.

As they walked, they passed by another bonder with a newly bonded lackey, as evidenced by the bondsman's still raw brand on his forehead. Rupert "accidentally" bumped into the bondsman, apologized, and the next thing Luke knew, he was being handed a purse whose strings had been cut.

"Careful, Junior," Luke warned, dropping it into a hidden pocket on the inside of his cloak. "We want to remain anonymous."

Rupert sighed and looked around for a better target. Suddenly he nudged Luke and nodded towards another troupe encampment where there was apparently a wrestling competition going on. "Look there," he said.

Luke looked and recognized the encampment of which the herb-crafter's tent was a part. An audience was gathered around the open part of the semi-circle, and two large men were standing feet akimbo with hands locked around each other's wrists.

"Not the wrestlers," Rupert said quietly. "The dark-haired man in the back."

Luke watched. When one of the wrestlers flipped the other, there was a quick movement from the dark-haired man, and the man he'd been standing behind didn't have his purse any more.

Luke raised his eyebrows.

"Should we stop him?" Rupert wanted to know.

"No," Luke replied. "Might even help us by spreading suspicion around."

"Okay," Rupert said. "What about something to eat? It's getting late."

Luke nodded towards the food stalls. "There?"

"Fine by me."

They found a stall that sold some sort of flat bread that was stuffed with chunks of unknown meat with a spread of the same orange vegetable Elaan had served on Luke's first night at the house. Luke bought one, and Rupert bought two, giving one to the black and white mortu that hung around the stall begging for scraps from the customers. It was a friendly animal, although so skinny its ribs were showing. It gulped Rupert's gift in two bites, then stared at Rupert and wagged its tail furiously, simultaneously thanking Rupert and asking for more. The animal reminded Rupert of his former pet, and he was about to buy the creature another one, until Luke warned him not to bloat the animal's stomach, and asked him if he intended to feed _every_ animal at the fair.

"Not _every_ animal," Rupert promised, "but she's _nice_. And she's pregnant. I was thinking about using her to help guard the camp."

"She belong to anyone?"

"Not any more. She did, but-"

Suddenly and simultaneously, Rupert whirled, and the mortu yelped in pain. Luke was a little slower in turning, but not by much. A bonder's foot, clad in a red leather boot, was still in the air, and being pulled back to deliver another hard kick to the animal.

Just then, a number of pots clattered off the shelf of the stall between the bonder and the mortu, and Rupert sent a mental command to the animal to run away. Then Rupert took a step toward the bonder with the red boots, and Rupert's expression was murderous.

Luke blocked his way. "No."

"But he—"

"I know what he did. And you'll get even, I promise. But hit him where it will hurt him the most."

"His purse," Rupert said. His anger transformed into a different sort of gleam.

"We'll make him a priority," Luke promised. "But I can't get to him right now. He keeps feeling for the damn thing and checking to make sure it's there. I would set some of your 'friends' to watching where he goes and trying later when he thinks he's safe."

Rupert grinned. "Can you make do without me for a while?"

"I think we've done enough for today. Tell your lady-friend to follow me at a distance, and I'll see that she's taken care of. But come back to the camp as soon as you can. Who knows, but last night's visitor may have had a 'friend.'"

"Okay. And, uh," he indicated with his head the mess of pots that Red Boots was yelling to the stall proprietor about, "thanks for that."

"You're welcome."

Rupert followed Red Boots at a distance, using the local bird's-eye view to guide him. When the sun set, he switched to rodents and skerrits, whose nocturnal eyes were more suited to the task. Meanwhile, without appearing to do so, Luke led the mortu back to the camp, whispered instructions to Brenna, and shortly thereafter the animal was "adopted" by the troupe and properly tended to.

Eventually, Rupert returned to the camp, having learned the location of Red Boots' lodgings. Red Boots had acquired a female "companion" for the night, and Rupert was afraid that if he made a move on Red Boots' monetary cache, the bonder would blame the theft on the woman, and having seen other signs of Red Boots' temper besides the mortu, Rupert was worred what Red Boots would do to her when the theft was discovered. So Red Boots was safe for the moment, but Luke assured Rupert that his time would come.

And the malignant presence Luke felt was getting nearer.

That, plus Elaan's feeling of being "watched" the previous night made Luke decide that he needed a bit more privacy to finish the job of healing her hand. So he followed the apparent example of Red Boots and some of the other bonders and took her back to his room with him. After her hand was mended, he told Elaan about the tickle in the Force.

"A Sniffer," she said. "Aren and I will be immune, but I cannot say the same for you or Rupert. He will have soldiers with him. It will be very dangerous." She raised her eyes to him. "Perhaps too dangerous?"

Luke heard her real question and smiled. "Don't worry. The mission's not off. I don't think your 'Sniffer' will be any match for a couple of Jedis armed with two lightsabers and a blaster. No, it just complicates things a bit, that's all. Tell me everything you know about 'Sniffers.'"

Elaan explained that Sniffers were unheard of a generation ago, that it was only since the current Viceroy took power that they came into being. Their job was "sniff out" other wizard-born to be captured or killed by the soldiers. Those captured were taken to the capital to face Deities-knew-what, and perhaps be turned into Sniffers themselves.

"What would make a Force-sensitive turn on his fellows like that?" Luke mused.

"Not all Sniffers are evil," Elaan answered. "If a wizard-born is found, almost always his family is also taken…and the wizard-born is forced into it, or to see his family killed. Sometimes they travel in pairs, in two separate groups, to provide a 'check' on each other."

"Hmmm," Luke said, considering. "So it may be better to neutralize the threat rather than to eliminate it."

"Do you still wish Rupert to remain at the camp? Would it not be safer for the two of you to stay together?"  
"He's all right for the time being," Luke replied "But I'll need his help to get that Sniffer away from his escort. Now. Shall I take you back to the camp, or would you like to stay here for the night?"

"I will stay," Elaan said, meeting his eyes. "If you want me. Until Timmon is safe."

"I understand," Luke said, caressing her cheek. "Only until Timmon is safe."


	19. Chapter 19

**The Face in the Shadows**

Chapter 19

The Sniffer and his contingent arrived two days later.

Luke was glad to see that they were mounted on ride-beasts. _That_ would make things a whole lot easier.

They rode into the fair, and Luke signaled Rupert to stay on the opposite side, but even with the soldiers, as he stayed even on his own side.

The dark-haired man in their midst swung his head from side-to-side, brows furrowed, trying to localize the presence he felt so close by. Luke was pretty sure the man couldn't tell there were _two_ Force-talents nearby. He was not well-trained, then. Probably not used to being out-numbered, much less outnumbered by fully-trained Jedi. Then the direction of his gaze shifted, and after a moment, he signaled to the soldier next to him, and nodded in the direction of the herb-crafter's tent. On the side of the tent away from the soldiers, Luke saw a flash of canvas, and a small figure running away, toward the woods.

So apparently it was the herb-crafter who was the source of the benign presence Luke had felt since arriving here at the fair. And instead of trying to hide in the crowd of fair-goers, the idiot was trying to lose himself in the woods.

Or, if his goal was to protect the fair-goers, perhaps not such an idiot after all.

The Sniffer pointed, said something to the soldiers, and they urged their mounts towards the herb-crafter's tent and the woods beyond.

As the Sniffer and first soldier reached the tent, Luke signaled to Rupert, and suddenly every ride-beast whinnied, reared, bucked, and otherwise went out of control.

Luke ducked out of sight behind one of the other tents in the herb-crafter's tent, pulled out Rupert's blaster already set on _stun_, and fired twice.

The Sniffer and the leader of the soldiers fell off their mounts and lay on the ground. The ride-beasts bucked and returned to the group of animals that were still out of control on the main promenade, some of them having successfully thrown their riders. The noise of the animals and the shouts of the soldiers had effectively covered up the sounds of the blaster. There was still the flashes of light to consider, but most of that had been hidden by the tents, and Luke hoped that the distraction of the out of control animals would take care of the rest.

Luke ignored the captain, went straight to the Sniffer, and started dragging him into the woods. After a second or two, Rupert joined him, picking up the Sniffer's legs and helping to get him out of sight into the trees, to where Luke had had Rupert hide their own ride-beasts earlier.

They bound the Sniffer's wrists with zip-ties, thongs, and bandages. He might be able to escape if he were a telekin, but it would take time. Luke was about to start in on the man's feet, but Rupert produced a hypo-spray syringe and gave him a dose of whatever it had been loaded with, just as the man started groaning and coming to.

"What's that?" Luke wanted to know.

"Something my Dad took off of someone once. Apparently it simulates alcohol intoxication."

Luke grinned. "Perfect." Luke helped Rupert get their prisoner mounted onto the ride-beast with both physical and Force-generated assistance, they bound the reins to the Sniffer's hands and his ankles to the girth, threw a cloak over him, and to all the world he looked like a drunken rider. Rupert mounted up, threw his own cloak on, and they were ready to go.

"Someplace nice and lonely, and well away from here," Luke instructed. And get back as soon as you can."

Rupert made a clicking noise with his mouth, and the ride-beasts started moving, Rupert's mount in the lead, and the Sniffer's trailing behind with Force-guidance rather than rider-guidance.

Luke brushed his hands off. Piece of cake. He wondered briefly where the herb-crafter had gotten to, and hoped the fellow had the sense to stay away from his tent at least while the soldiers were still in the area.

The captain of the soldiers was found, but with their Sniffer gone missing, their mission went, too. The woods were searched, to no avail, and eventually the soldiers just left, presumably to return to their home base of operations.

With Rupert away, stealing from the bonders became a bit more problematic. Luke ended up using the women in the troupe. He had them cut a slit in the bottoms of their skirt pockets, and wear a garter-like gizmo with hooks on it. That way, he could walk with his hands in plain sight, the skirt would cover the motion of the downward-levitating purse from the rear, he could levitate the purse back _up_ when it was _inside_ the skirt, and Brenna/Elaan/Ranaad/Kayleen could reach inside her pocket, and hook the purse strings to her garter-gizmo. It left Luke free to concentrate on the timing of his thefts, and the delicate bits of levitation he needed to accomplish them.

Aren and Sandin were a bit petulant over their roles as mere musicians, but Luke pointed out that given the culture here, men were more likely to be suspects than women, and by their staying in plain sight at all times, it helped keep the camp above suspicion. In addition, Luke gave Sandin Rupert's blaster, and charged him with protecting the camp while Rupert was away. With the mortu partially trained by Rupert there to signal the nighttime arrival of anyone who didn't belong to the group, Luke felt confident that the camp would be safe enough.

There was another matter to attend to, though, in addition to the thefts and protecting the camp: Timmon.

Heretofore, they had no knowledge of Timmon's condition. They could only assume that he was still alive because of the impending auction. He might be barely alive, or he might be relatively whole. There was no way of knowing.

The only permanent structures of the fair were a barracks type of building, which housed a small number of soldiers in the same style of uniform as the ones with the Sniffer, and another building of solid stone, with no windows and only one door leading in or out. This, Elaan confirmed, was the prison where they would be holding Timmon.

As a bonder interested in bidding on Timmon, Luke would be able to gain a limited access to him on the day before the auction, to "see the goods" that he'd be purchasing, and register as a bidder. Luke had to not only demonstrate that he had enough currency to make a serious bid, he also had to grease a palm or two in order make that access happen.

When Luke was ready to go and see Timmon in person, Elaan hesitantly produced a folded piece of parchment and handed it to him. "If you see that the situation is hopeless," she said, a little unsteadily, "give him this. But only if the situation is hopeless."

Luke opened the packet and looked at the dried red berries inside. He looked at her with raised eyebrows.

"He will know what they are, and know what they are for. If you give them to him, he will take them."

Luke nodded understanding and slipped the packet into the inside pocket of his cloak. He had something else there for Timmon, too, if the situation were _not_ completely hopeless. Then he kissed Elaan and headed to the prison.

Luke paid a coin to the guard at the door and was allowed inside, where he showed a number of larger coins to the secretary at the desk just inside the door, and used his bonder's ring to "register" his "mark" as a bidder by pressing the ring into a blob of soft wax on a parchment document. Then he was led down a set of stairs, across a "booby trap" intended to foil any rescues or escapes, past a number of cells that held a few lesser criminals from the fair – drunks or pickpockets – and down an additional set of stairs with its own booby trap, to the darkest and most isolated cell to be had.

Luke paid another coin to his escort, for a moment alone with the prisoner locked on the other side of the bars, took the lantern, and waited for the guard to go partially back up the stairs.

Luke's nose wrinkled. The cell stank with dampness and filth and lack of light. "Well…" he said quietly.

Timmon, huddled in the farthest corner, hadn't even looked up at the sound of another bonder coming to see him. His surprise at the sound of Luke's voice startled him out of his stupor. "You!" he exclaimed.

Luke put a finger to his lips, and then pointed to the stairs, to indicate there were ears. "Me," he said.

Timmon rose to his feet unsteadily and limped to the bars.

"You're no brother," he whispered.

"No," Luke confirmed quietly, taking in Timmon's haggard appearance. He lifted a portion of Timmon's thin shirt and noted with a grimace the welts and sores of recent abuse. "But I _am_ a friend."

"Elaan…?"

"Is safe for the moment," Luke finished. "She's here. And Aren. And your nieces. Don't ask questions. Just take this." He handed Timmon a small packet. "And hide the wrapping. I'm sorry I can't do more for you right now." The guard's footsteps were returning. He had only promised Luke a few seconds alone with the prisoner. In a louder voice, Luke said, "I will see you tomorrow, fremmin. Enjoy your last night being marless." Then in a barely audible voice, he told Timmon, "Spit on me."

As the guard came into sight, Timmon spat on Luke through the bars.

Luke reached through and slapped Timmon on the cheek, causing more noise than pain.

"You wish me to punish him?" asked the guard.

"No," Luke said. "I will take care of that myself. Tomorrow." He cast a last glance at Timmon and followed the guard back up the stairs.

Elaan was pacing the floor of his room when he returned. "Hopeless?" she asked anxiously.

In response, Luke took out the packet of poison berries she had given him and returned it. She let out a half-sob of relief.

"I gave him antibiotics, nutritional supplements, and pain killers. The rest will have to wait.."

"Thank you," Elaan breathed.

Luke nodded.

Rupert returned not long after.

"What did you do to our 'guest'?" Luke asked.

"I dropped him off on the next continent. Far enough away for you?"

Luke smiled. "It'll do. Sorry I can't give you any time to rest, but we've got some work to do. I'll need every copper we can get, at this point."

They spent the rest of the day fleecing as many bonders as they could. They tried Red Boots again, but the man was obsessed with his purse, and even when Luke tried to levitate it ever-so-slightly, Red Boots reached for it to check it, and looked around suspiciously.

Luke and Rupert, of course, were engaged in an innocent conversation, punctuated by the innocuous gestures of normal speech, apparently about the merits of buying a particular ride-beast that was for sale. Red Boots continued to eye them warily, until a skerrit darted across the path and distracted him momentarily. When he looked back at Luke and Rupert, the pair had walked farther away, and he shook his head in denial of the feeling that he somehow had been targeted.

When the sun went down and it began growing dark, Luke left all the money in the camp for the others to count, and went off by himself to prepare for the day ahead. Elaan caught up to him. "Do you wish to be by yourself," she asked, "or would you prefer company?"

"Company, by all means," Luke replied.

They walked in silence, neither one willing to bring up what they both knew, that this would be their last night together. Luke smiled a little sadly, savoring the feeling of warmth Elaan's body produced, and the sense of warmth he felt from her through the Force. Elaan, for her part, was still torn between the two men she loved, but she had made her decision well before now. There was not only Timmon, who filled her memories, but also Aren, whom she had born and raised, and who was not old enough yet to be a man. On the other side of the scale was Luke, whom she loved but barely knew, and Brenna, whom she could not remember bearing and who was a woman grown. The tipping of the balance did not ease the ache, only determined the outcome of what her choice had to be.

At length, she said, "Timmon is a good man."

"I know," Luke replied.

"As are you."

Luke's smile was wistful. "I know that, too."

"Aren needs me."

"I know. Elaan…I know. It's not your fault. It's mine. I shouldn't have just…_assumed_, all those years ago."

"I should have waited longer..."

"No." Luke stopped and took her face in his hands. "If you had, there would have been no Aren, and I'd never have found you again. And I wouldn't trade this brief time we've had for anything."

She half-sighed, half-sobbed, and Luke wrapped his arms around her. "Regrets?" he asked.

She looked up at him ruefully. "I could be happy with _two_ husbands."

Luke laughed. "It's all or nothing for me, Elaan. And I don't think Timmon or Aren would approve of any arrangement like that, either." He took her hand, and they continued walking, each lost in his or her own thoughts.

It was probably because of being lost in thought that neither of them noticed the presence behind them, until the tickle was nearly on top of them. "We're being followed," Luke whispered. "Not another Sniffer."

Elaan stopped and listened to what her inaudible sense was telling her. "No," she said. "It is the herb-crafter, Jenin."

"What do you think he wants?"

"I have no notion."

Luke took her arm and started walking with her again. "Let's find out, shall we?" Louder, in a more normal voice, he said, "No, I think that it will rain tomorrow."

"Surely not," Elaan said, taking the cue and playing along. "Today was so fair, and there was no sign of a cloud."

Luke led her to a tree and pretended to lean against it. "But the sky was so red at sunset. Surely, rain cannot be far behind." In a very quiet voice, he added, "Keep talking as if I'm still with you." He silently ducked down into the bushes and moved away.


	20. Chapter 20

**The Face in the Shadows**

Chapter 20

Luke approached the boy silently. Jenin was watching Elaan through the bushes as Elaan talked to thin air behind a tree. There was a hesitancy about the herb crafter, but just what caused that hesitancy, Luke couldn't say. Perhaps it was the boy's nature, or perhaps it was a conflict between the boy's physical sense and Force-sense, thinking that there should be _two_ presences ahead of him and sensing only one. Then, perhaps realizing that Luke was _behind_ him instead of in _front_ of him, the boy started to turn, and Luke made his move. When Elaan heard the boy's cry of surprise and pain, she stopped talking to the 'phantom' Luke and looked towards the sound.

"Look what I found," Luke said, hauling the boy in front of him as he entered the clearing. "The woods are full of small game tonight." He gave the boy's arm a small twist, forcing the boy to drop to his knees. Luke patted the boy down quickly and came up with only one weapon, a knife in a sheath at the boy's belt, not concealed, but convenient enough as a weapon. Luke took the knife, noting its sharp edge, and tucked it carefully into his own belt before turning the boy loose. "Now," he said, "why were you following us?"

The boy clasped his hands and looked at his hands instead of at Luke and Elaan. "If you please, sir," said the boy, still on his knees, "I mean you no harm."

"Oh? You just meant to rob us?"

"If you please, sir," said the boy, "it is you and your companions who do the robbing."

Luke raised his eyebrows in surprise and looked at Elaan. "The boy's got sharp eyes," he said.

"Or trained eyes," Elaan corrected. "He is a thief, himself. I have seen his friends at work."

"No, milady," Jenin said. "_I_ am no thief, and I have little to do with the others. They are not my friends, only my traveling companions. I am wizard-born, and in these times, I find I must abide them and their ways. So long as they leave myself alone, I care not how they manage their own business.

"Safety in numbers, eh?" Luke said. "What is it you want, boy? A cut of the action? Or a bounty for turning us in?"

"If you please, sir," the boy said, still looking at his clasped hands, "I have seen the sort from whom you rob, and I care very little what your business with them is. I am here on my own business, a private matter, of a healer's nature."

Elaan started in surprise. "I have no herbs with me, and no more flesh-worms."

"No, milady, my business is not with you." Jenin said, lifting his eyes to her. Then he looked at Luke. "But with you, milord."

"With _me_?" Luke said, taken aback. "What could you possibly want with _me_?"

"If you please, milord," Jenin said, looking back down at his hands, "I saw you heal her. You are a Master Wizard. I have come to ask—to _beg_ you—to take me as your apprentice."

"What?" Luke said in disbelief. "You don't even know me. Why would you want to apprentice yourself to me? Go back to your tent, Jenin. You don't know what you're about."

"If you please, milord," Jenin said, catching Luke's cloak and holding onto it, "I saw you heal her! I know the herb-craft." The boy inclined his head toward Elaan. "_She_ can tell you that. But I also have the healer's gift! The gift, but not the means to use it. I have searched everywhere for one of your abilities."

"Luke," said Elaan suddenly, "the woods are no place for such discussion."

"I agree," Luke replied, hearing the same drunken voices in the distance that Elaan had heard. "Let's go back to the inn." He turned to Jenin. "You, on your feet. No talking. You know the way?"

"Yes, m—"

"No talking," Luke reminded, hiding a smile. "Do you know the way?"

Jenin nodded, and pointed down the path.

"Good. Then move."

Once inside the relative safety and privacy of Luke's room, Luke warned Jenin to keep his voice low, and directed him to sit at the table. Jenin sat, glancing first at the leftover food sitting on the table, and then carefully avoided looking at it again by locking his eyes onto Luke.

"Let's talk," Luke said.

But Elaan put a hand on Luke's shoulder. "I must insist that you let the boy eat first, before you start interrogating him. Can you not see he is near to starved?"

"What? Oh, yeah. Sure." He waved an arm at the table. "Help yourself."

"If you please, milord, I would not be a burden…"

Luke sighed, picked up a plate, sliced off two pieces of bread and a generous portion of meat to make a sandwich, picked a piece of fruit from the basket, and shoved the full plate in front of the boy. "Eat," he ordered.

"As you wish, milord," Jenin murmured, and fell to eating as quickly as he could. When he was done, the piece of fruit still remained on the plate. Jenin was about to put it back in the basket, but Luke told him to put it in his pocket, and tossed him another piece to keep the first one company.

"Now," said Luke, "what makes you think you have the gift for healing?" he asked.

"If you please, milord," said Jenin quietly, not looking at Luke but at his own hands folded on the table, "my father was a healer, so I knew I would be, too."

"Not necessarily. But why didn't your father just pass his knowledge on to you?"

"He…is gone now. I learned the herb-craft, but not the wizard's art. If my father had taught me, I would not have had the need to seek you out. But milord, I also know that I have the gift, because I see the colors."

"Colors?" Luke frowned, then realized what the translation was and his eyebrows lifted. "You mean _auras_?"

"I do not know that term, milord. But I can see what is wrong with a person by the colors surrounding him."

Elaan turned to Luke. "Such an ability is rare on my world." She looked at Jenin. "I have only heard of one Wizard-born who could do such a thing."

"'On your world,' milady?" Jenin asked, frowning.

"Never mind," Luke said to him. To Elaan, he said, "Believe me, it's rare where I come from, too." He turned back to Jenin. "The ability to see colors—auras—is an indication, but it's not conclusive."

"Not only that, milord. I can also heal, but a little. Look!" He shook his sleeves loose to reveal numerous scars on both his arms, and held them up for Luke to see.

Luke grasped one of the boy's fists and studied the marks grimly. There were too many of them for the mutilation to have been any accident. "How did you get those?" he asked. "Did someone do that to you?"

"I did it to myself, milord," Jenin said. "To practice. As I said, I can heal—a little. But I need a teacher to do more."

Luke took another look at the scarred arm and studied the history he saw there. "Let me guess," he said. "You get the cut to heal a tiny bit, maybe just enough to stop the bleeding, and then you're too exhausted to go on."

"Yes," Jenin said in surprise. "How did you know?"

Luke sat back, astounded. He had not expected anything like what the boy had just presented to him, the ability to see auras, and to heal, even a little, without any training.

The boy fell out of his chair to his knees and grasped Luke's cloak. "I will pay you everything I have, I will bond myself to you, wear your mark, if you but show me how you healed her so quickly. I can make you a rich man. Please, Master Wizard! I beg you!"

Luke pulled the hands off his cloak. "Sit down, Jenin, and stop that nonsense." As Jenin returned to his seat, Luke rose from his, and paced. The young herb-crafter's hopeful, fearful eyes followed his every step. Finally, Luke stopped and turned to him. "Why were you trailing us and watching us like some animal? Why didn't you just come straight up to me?"

"If you p—" the boy's voice caught, and he had to start again. "If you please, milord, you wear a bonder's ring."

Luke looked down at his hand in surprise. He'd forgotten he had it on.

The boy went on nervously. "I have been…marless all my life. I had thought…I would starve before I wore a bonder's mark. And then…I saw you heal her. Please, Master Wizard, I meant you no harm."

Luke studied Jenin. "You'd give up your freedom to become my apprentice? Do you have any idea what I would be like as a master?"

Jenin was close to tears. "You _healed_ her, milord. My craftings…are nothing in comparison. Because I travel, I have no garden. Hence, my remedies are limited to the herbs my customers bring me. I have the knowledge for other cures, but not the means. As your servant, I could craft many medicines. But of course you do not need them." Jenin looked away. "Forgive me, milord, I do not mean to talk so much."

"Jenin," Luke said, shaking his head, "you wouldn't fit in where I come from."

"Milord, I would! I could earn my own keep, with my craftings!—If you care to let me continue with them, I mean. But I can do other things, as well. I am an excellent cook, milord."

"I'm sure you are," Luke replied, then fell silent, considering the situation. The boy had a gift, of that there was no question. The only question was whether he could give the boy the basics of Force-healing in such a short amount of time.

After a few minutes Jenin asked quietly, "Will you bond me now, Master Wizard?"

"I don't intend to bond you at all, Jenin," Luke replied. "I'll be leaving here soon, and I've no intention of taking you with me."

Jenin's mouth started to open in protest, but Luke went on. "I'm going to ask you something, and I need your honest answer. Have you ever bonded with another Wizard before?"

Jenin frowned. "But you just said—"

Luke waved his hand in front of his face. "Bad choice of words. Mind-linked. Made a telepathic connection. It's faster than words, and is how this sort of thing is usually done. Have you ever joined two minds as one?"

Jenin hesitated in answering.

"Yes or no, Jenin?" Luke asked.

"Yes," Jenin said quietly. "Once before."

Luke studied Jenin, noting the hesitancy and the quietness of the answer. Luke didn't like that hesitancy. Apparently, the mind-link had not been a positive experience for the boy. Luke sat back down at the table across from Jenin. "All right," he said, "I might be able to show you something after all, even without a mind-link. But I can spare you no more than a couple of hours tonight."

Jenin's face lit up.

"Then again," Luke went on, "I might not be able to teach you anything at all. You have to accept that. And whatever I can give you, if anything, will just be the rudiments. You'd be on your own for practicing and refining. But there's a price for my teaching you even that much."

"Anything," Jenin replied.

"Don't answer so quickly. You don't know my price yet."

"Name it!"

Luke nodded. "First, you must never bond yourself to anyone. Wear someone else's mark, I mean. You're marless, and it's my desire that you stay that way."

"A strange price, coming from a bonder," said Jenin. "But it is a promise I give most readily. I would not have offered even to you, save that I saw you heal her."

"Well, that's good," Luke replied. "But I mean not even if it's to a 'Master Wizard.' I don't care what he knows, or what you _think_ he knows. Whatever he's got, it's not worth the price of your freedom."

"Your price is a bargain," Jenin said.

"Not really," Luke replied. "You haven't heard the rest of it. Second, you will take no bondservant of your own. Ever."

Jenin was silent for a minute. Luke thought perhaps he had misjudged the boy, but then Jenin asked, "What of an apprentice? May I pass this knowledge on to another with the gift?"

Luke smiled at the boy's question. "If you find someone else with the gift, and he wants to learn, you may teach him as long as he agrees to the same conditions I'm giving you. And anyone _he_ teaches must agree to the same conditions, and so on. No bonder's mark, and no indentureship. Your apprentice must be free to leave whenever he likes."

"Then continue," Jenin said. "I have no desire for a bondservant, though I have had fond imaginings that if ever I could heal as you have done, I might take an apprentice if I find one with the gift. What are your other conditions?"

"Third," said Luke, "you must never betray another Wizard-born to the Sniffers or whoever. Or any non-Wizard-born by saying that he or she is a Wizard-born."

Jenin spoke up so quickly that Luke was certain he was speaking the truth. "In my travels, milord, I have learned of certain people who have died without relatives. Should I be taken by the Sniffers and pressed, it is their names I have planned to give. If you please, milord, it is my nature to heal, not betray. I would not have done anyway."

Luke nodded, well aware of what 'pressed' meant. Tortured. "You've a good head on your shoulders, Jenin, though I don't know why you stuck around when you sensed the Sniffer coming."

"Milord, because _you_ were still here. I could not take the chance of leaving, and not finding you again."

"Well…" Luke said, absorbing that the boy was willing to trade his life for a chance to learn to heal. "My last requirement is that whatever I have to show you, whatever you learn from me, is not just for the ones who can afford it. You must use this without regard to who can pay you, and who cannot. From the poorest bondservant to the richest bonder. You may exact a fee from those who can afford it, but no more than they can afford, and no fee from the ones who cannot."

Jenin smiled. "Master Wizard, have you seen the prices for my craftings? I am like as not to give them away. It is a…point of contention between myself and my traveling companions. They tolerate me because I draw an audience. I cannot keep them from picking pockets, but only those pockets that are full have anything to pick. Sometimes my customers come with money enough to pay me for my herbs, yet by the time they see me, they have none. In cases such as those, sir, I ask only that my patients remember with kindness that it was a Wizard-born who helped them when they could not afford it."

"Good lad. Now let's begin with the basics, shall we? You have to know who you can heal, and who you can't. And when to quit. The energy you put into healing comes from you, your own body. If you overextend yourself, you'll end up with two victims rather than one. If you kill yourself doing it, you won't be able to help the next patient, or the one after that, or pass the knowledge on to someone else. Understand?"

Jennin nodded.

"All right, let's see what you can do." Luke pulled out Jenin's knife from his belt. Jenin shook a sleeve away to bare one of his arms and propped his arm on the table. Luke grimaced at the ugly scars, and, not wanting to add to the mutilation, bared his own arm—his real arm—and made to press the tip into his own flesh.

"Careful," Jenin warned. "It is very sharp."

Luke smiled, and pressed. A thin red trickle appeared on his arm. Even if left untreated, the wound was not deep enough to affect the use of his arm, only deep enough to make it bleed for a short while. "Heal that," he said, tucking the knife back into his belt.

Jenin bit his lip. "I have never tried on another, only on myself."

"I need to know what you can do, Jenin." Luke said. "Think of the cut as an extension of yourself."

Jenin took a deep breath and then laid a hand on Luke's arm, just over the wound. He closed his eyes to concentrate. Luke closed his eyes, too, to focus on feeling the energy he hoped would come. After a moment, Luke felt warmth building over the wound. He let the energy build for a moment, to gauge the extent of the boy's powers, then resisted to see what Jenin would do. When the warmth became heat, Luke pulled his arm away. He was not surprised to see that Jenin was out of breath.

Luke shook his head in wonder. "You've got the gift, all right. You're amazingly powerful, Jenin."

Jenin brightened.

"But you have no idea how to apply it." Luke added. "If nothing else, maybe I can at least keep you from killing yourself in those experiments of yours."

Jenin's face broke into a grin. "Yes! Anything! Anything you can show me!"

"The first thing," Luke said, "like I said before, is knowing who you can and can't heal, and knowing when to stop. A patient may be too far gone for you to heal, or may not even _want_ to be healed. When I resisted, you should have stopped, but you didn't. Force—I mean, Wizard-healing is a dangerous thing. If you aren't careful about knowing when to use it, you could kill yourself. And then you won't be able to do _anyone_ any good! Understand?"

Jenin nodded.

"The second thing," Luke went on, "is that you're using too much energy. You're wasting it."

"Too much?" Jenin frowned. "I thought it was too _little_."

Luke smiled. "You couldn't heal right away, so you thought more was better, right? It doesn't work that way. You've got to be patient. Use less, and recycle as much of the energy as you can."

"'Recycle'?" Jenin frowned at the unfamiliar word.

"Uh, re-use. Look, put one hand here," Luke placed one of Jenin's hands on one side of the cut on his arm, "and the other here." He put Jenin's other hand on the other side of the cut. "You send the energy through this hand, you collect it through this one, and you send it back through again. In pulses. With the pulse. Match your body rhythm with mine before you do anything else. Can you feel it?"

"I am not over the blood-line," Jenin said.

Luke had to think for a second to translate 'blood-line' to artery. "You don't need to be. It's not the physical sense I'm talking about, but the same sense you use to see the colors. Can you feel it? Try again."

Jenin concentrated for a few minutes, but to no avail. "I do not…know," he said.

"Find the rhythm. Don't send any energy through yet."

Luke waited patiently, but Jenin looked up a few minutes later with confusion still written on his face. "My apologies, Master Wizard. I do not understand."

"No," Luke said. "It's not an easy concept. I could maybe show you in a mind-link. But without the time to prepare you properly, you might not find that kind of intimacy…very comfortable. Especially if you've only done it once before. I wouldn't even offer if you'd never done it before."

"May I…try it again?"

"Go ahead," Luke said. He closed his eyes and concentrated on enhancing his rhythm, making it louder, to see if Jenin could find it.

The young healer tried again, without success. He continued trying until it was obvious he wasn't going to get it.

"Do you want to try the mind-link?" Luke asked.

Jenin nodded, but there was the slightest hesitation before he nodded.

"You have to be sure, Jenin."

Jenin folded his hands, and looked at them. Then he said quietly, "I would rather…be uncomfortable for a short while than waste an instant more of the time we have together." He raised his eyes to look at Luke.

"You'd have to trust me."

"I…trust you."

Luke drew in a breath and let it out again. The boy's hesitancy contradicted his words, but Jenin was hungry to learn. That hunger was plain to see even without the Force. "All right," Luke said. "We'll give it a try." He maneuvered his chair so that he was directly in front of the boy, without the table between them.

"What must I do?" the boy asked, a little nervously.

"The same as you did the first time you mind-linked. Just relax. It might help if you give me your hands."

Jenin surrendered his hands. Luke took them, enclosing the small, cold, trembling fingers inside his large warm ones. "It's okay," he murmured reassuringly. "It's nothing to be afraid of."

"I am ready," Jenin said, though Luke wasn't altogether certain that he was.

Luke sent a questing tendril of thought to touch the most surface layers of Jenin's consciousness, to the area right before thought became speech. _Jenin?_

_Master Wizard!_

_It's just Luke._

_Luke. Master Wizard. Show me…the healing._

_I can't, just yet. I have to go deeper._

_Deeper? No…_

Luke took a breath and pulled out, releasing Jenin's hands. "Sorry, Jenin. It's not as easy as it sounds. Not even the second time."

"Please!" Jenin said, grasping Luke's hands. "Do not give up on me! I am sorry. I will try to do better."

"It's not…a matter of doing better. It's trust. You have to trust me, and without the time to develop that—"

"I trust you," Jenin said. "Please! Try again! I want to learn. To learn to heal—for that I would do anything. Please, Master Wizard—Luke!"

Luke relented. "All right, we'll try again." He took another breath and waited until Jenin had done the same and closed his eyes. _Jenin?_

_Yes! Please!_

_I have to go deeper._

_Teach me!_

Luke started to push through to the next deeper layer, towards where he needed to be to show Jenin how to heal.

_No!_ Jenin's mental voice cried involuntarily.

Luke pulled out again, before Jenin's subconscious voice could become more than the birth of a thought. "I'm sorry, Jenin. It's not working. If we had more time…"

"Once more," Jenin begged. "Please try once more."

Luke shook his head. He'd gotten slightly further the second time, enough to know that the boy was desperate to learn to heal. And also enough to know that Jenin had some terrible and closely guarded secret, so central to the boy's being that it blocked the sub-speech layer and was so close to the surface layer that Luke almost heard it in mental words. If he pushed, he would get through, but it would cost Jenin the secret. That was why trust was so important, and why Luke had asked if Jenin had ever linked before. Instinct and reflex had to be overcome for the link to succeed. It usually took months of preparation before a student was ready for this kind of contact, months of talking about what it would be like, months of planning and preparing, months of getting all the dark little secrets out into the open before the first actual link was established.

And the time Luke had known Jenin was measured in minutes.

"Once more!" Jenin said again. "Just once more!"

Luke stood up and patted the boy's shoulder. "Wait here a minute," he said. Then he said, "Elaan, could I see you outside?"

When they were outside the room in the hallway with the door shut, Elaan asked quietly, "What is it?"

"I need a second opinion," Luke said. "I'm getting mixed signals from Jenin. There's a lot of resistance. Ordinarily, I'd back off, we'd talk about it, vocalize all the issues before going sub-vocal, and try again. _Ordinarily_, I'd have a lot more time to prepare a novice for a mind-link, but in this case I don't have the luxury of time. That's why I asked him if he had mind-linked before."

Elaan frowned. She had read no deception from the boy on Luke's questions. "Do you think he lied about having experienced one, to get you to teach him?"

"No," Luke said. "That's the other thing. I think he was telling the truth about mind-linking before, but whoever bonded with him hurt him in some way. A mind-link is a very intimate thing. The experience _should_ be something to cherish, but in Jenin's case, he'd rather forget it. If I push through, I may be able to undo some of the damage. On the other hand, I may make it worse."

"Is there a test to know which?"

"That's where I need your help. I'm going to ask Jenin some questions, and he wants to learn so badly that he may lie about the answers. You're a Shield, and you may be able to see past some of the things that I can't. Plus, you've got a good sense of physical reactions. I want to check my sense of whether he's telling the truth with yours. I want you to stand behind him, and when I look at you, nod your head if you think he's telling the truth, and shake it if you think he's lying."

"All right," Elaan said.

Luke started to return to the room, but Elaan held him back. "Luke, I think there is something you should know."

"What is it?"

"Do you remember I spoke of one other Wizard who could see the colors?"

"Yes. What of it?"

"That Wizard was from the Kastral region. It was said he was the greatest healer of all time—that he could heal with a thought. By this boy's accent, he is from the same region. There may possibly be a connection."

Luke studied her, sensing something important in her words. "Tell me what you know about this…Wizard from Kastral."

Elaan nodded. "When Aren was just a babe, there were stories of a healer who could wrought miracles. It was said that he cured an entire village in Kastral of plague. It was said that all he asked in return was to be allowed to settle there with his new wife. But by then the king was dead, and the Viceroy ruled that all Wizard-born were witches, and should be killed immediately."

"The village turned against him?"

"Yes. Somehow they had become convinced that they had paid for the cure with their souls, and the only way to regain them was to kill the Wizard and his family, for by then his wife was with child, or had just given birth. The stories give different accounts. But in those days, as now, the usual method of being rid of a witch was through fire. Thinking the whole family to be at home, the villagers set fire to the Wizard's house. But the Wizard himself was gone, to heal someone outside of the village, and returned to find his home in flames. Upon seeing him, the villagers fled, and the Wizard rushed inside to save his wife and child. Some stories say that he perished in the fire with his family. Others say that he saved the wife but not the child, others that he saved the child but not the wife, and others still that he was unable to save either, but that he himself escaped. There are some who say, even, that the tale was invented, as a warning to other Wizard-born to stay in hiding. I cannot tell you which version is the truth."

"All right," Luke said. "There may be something in that, or not. Thanks for the heads-up."

Luke opened the door and held it for her as they returned to the room. Then Luke took his place by Jenin again. Elaan moved around the table to position herself behind Jenin. Jenin glanced at her, but Luke sat directly in front of the boy in such a way that it commanded Jenin's full attention.

"Okay, Jenin," said Luke, "I've got a few questions for you before I figure out what to do next. You're sure you've mind-linked before?"

"Yes, milord" Jenin said. Behind him, Elaan nodded.

"You can cut the 'milord' bit. You're from Kastral, aren't you?"

"Ye-yes, milord. I mean, Master Wizard."

"You ever hear of a Wizard from that region who could heal?

Jenin bit his lip, then let it go. Finally he said, "The Wizard of Kastral was my father."

Behind him, Elaan started in surprise, then nodded.

"Did you know him, Master Wizard?" Jenin asked.

"No," Luke said. "But Elaan told me the story. Were you the child in the fire, then?"

Jenin hesitated before answering. "I was, Master Wizard."

"Did everyone in your family escape?"

"Not my mother, milord. But my father and I survived. If you please, Master Wizard, I was just a babe then and remember nothing, only having this all my life." He fingered the ugly scar that started on the side of his face and ran down his neck.

Luke looked up, and Elaan nodded. Everything Jenin had said so far was true.

"Have you ever…sought revenge against the ones who hurt you?" Luke asked.

"No, Master Wizard. To what purpose?" Another nod from Elaan.

"Have you ever betrayed another Wizard-born?"

Jenin hesitated. Behind him, Elaan frowned. Then Jenin asked, "Do you mean, to the Sniffers?"

"Yes," Luke said, wondering in what other way one could possibly betray another Wizard-born.

"No, m—Master Wizard, I have not. I would never do that!" Behind him, Elaan nodded agreement.

"Have you ever…misused your Wizard-gifts?"

Jenin made a sound that wasn't quite a laugh. "Milord—Master Wizard, I see the colors. Of what use is that, save to heal?"

Behind him, Elaan shrugged, then nodded.

"Your herb craft, then," Luke said. "Have you ever misused it?"

Jenin hesitated. "I—misuse in what manner, Master Wizard?"

Luke raised his eyebrows at the boy's evasion. "In _any_ manner."

For a second, Jenin seemed uncomfortable. Then he looked at Luke and said, "My medicines are for healing, Master Wizard. I have never crafted a medicine for any other purpose, never to hurt or harm. Thrice, however, I did give medicine that was not meant for healing, but to end suffering. These I gave to patients who were already dying, to ease their passing. I told them what it was for, Master Wizard. I did not put it in their mouths."

Elaan nodded.

So the boy had provided a merciful ending for a few tortured patients who weren't going to live anyway. Luke wasn't prepared to condemn him for that. But he wondered what Jenin could possibly have done if the young healer had never misused either his Force-talent or his craft, because Luke was certain there was something the boy was not telling. "Have you ever done anything else that would give me reason not to teach you?"

Jenin hesitated again. "No, Master Wizard."

Luke looked at Elaan, who answered him with a nod. Luke frowned. There had to be _some_thing, a reason for the hesitations, the reluctance, the resistance. "Jenin, is there any reason—any reason at _all_—why I might not want to teach you?"

"No, Master Wizard."

Luke felt it then, a slight tremor in the Force, an uncomfortableness from someone who didn't like lying but felt forced into it. Luke checked his reading with Elaan, who shook her head, not confirming Jenin's answer of 'no,' but confirming that the boy's answer was a lie.

"Last question, Jenin," Luke said. "How badly do you want to learn to heal?"

"Very much, Master Wizard."

"How much…would you be willing to endure in order to learn?"

"To learn to heal, Master Wizard, I would endure anything."

Elaan nodded.

"All right, Jenin," Luke said. "Sit tight for a few more minutes." He lifted his eyes. "Elaan?" He tilted his head towards the door.

Out in the hallway, with the door shut between them and Jenin, Luke asked, "What do you think?"

"I think it odd that he believes there is a reason you might not wish to teach him even though he has _done_ nothing to warrant it."

"I think it's odd, too. I don't know, Elaan. If I press, I might do more harm than good. With the amount of resistance he's giving me, and without the time to prepare him, I'd hurt him for sure. I wish I knew what the best course was, whether it's worth it to push through."

"Did not the boy himself answer that question when he said the he would endure anything?"

"Yeah," Luke said with a wry smile. "Anything except the sacrifice of his secret. Whatever his secret is, I think it's what caused his distaste for mind-linking. All right. I'll give it one more try, see if he'll open up without my pushing too hard. If it doesn't work—I dunno. Maybe I _will_ take him as an apprentice, after all. I don't normally like cleaning up someone else's mess, but the idea of leaving him with such a distaste for mind-linking doesn't exactly appeal to me, either. I want you present, Elaan, but not too close. I want him to have the security of having someone like you nearby. Give me room to work, but stay near enough that you can step in if things get a little too rough. He's still a kid, and every kid needs—"

"A mother," Elaan said, smiling. "I understand."

Luke smiled confirmation, and they returned to the room. Elaan took a post in the far corner while Luke took his chair by Jenin again.

"We'll try it one more time, Jenin. I just don't want you to regret it."

"If you teach me," Jenin said firmly, "I will not regret it."

"All right," Luke said. "Let's give it one more try." In the back of Luke's mind, he heard another voice from another time: _Do. Or do not. There is no 'try'._ Sometimes, Luke replied to the teacher in his thoughts, there was _only_ 'try.'

He created the tentative link again. _Jenin?_

The boy's thoughts, even at the most surface level, were a jumble of desperation and confusion. _Please! No, I cannot—I must! Never have this chance again! Master Wizard, please do not abandon me! Afraid! He will not teach me if he finds out! No! Stop thinking! If I think, he will learn who I am. Stop! I am Jenin, just Jenin. I am a healer. Concentrate on that! Master Wizard, please do not leave me! It is hopeless. He will not teach me…_

Luke waited. After a moment, the boy's thoughts quieted into a single mantra. _Do not think!_ Jenin told himself, over and over again. _Do not think, or he will learn it. Do not think, or he will abandon me. Do not think. Do not think!_

_Jenin?_ Luke said into the link.

_Do not think! Yes? Do not think! Please! Teach me! I hunger to learn! Do not think!_

_Relax, Jenin. We're just going to hang out here for a little while._

_Do not think! Do not think! Hang…out? Do not think! What is…hang…out?_

_We're just going to wait here until you're ready to go on._

_I am ready! Do not think! _

_No,_ Luke chided gently. _Not yet. You're not ready yet._

_You will abandon me! _

_No…_

Luke waited. Jenin's thoughts turned back to the mantra. _Do not think! He will abandon me if he knows. Do not think! Do not think!_

_Jenin?_

_Do not abandon me!_

_I won't abandon you. It's okay to think._

_Teach me!_

_Not yet. We're hanging out, remember? You can let go. I won't abandon you._

_Hanging…out. Yes. No! You will leave soon! There is not enough time! _

_There's enough. You're extraordinary, Jenin. I've never encountered anyone with your gift before. The Force is strong in you. I've changed my mind about not taking you as an apprentice. I could take you with me, teach you to use your gift. The right way, not like this. Prepare you._

_Take…me with you?_

Into the sub-vocal link, Luke projected an image of the _Millennium Falcon_ and Medea Two. Images of Croyus Four, of Tatooine, of Coruscant, of Dagobah followed in quick succession.

_You come from the stars! _Jenin thought in wonder.

_Yes…_

_You are a god!_

Luke's mental laughter carried into the link. _Hardly. Your people came from the stars, too. A long time ago._

Wonder continued to fill Jenin momentarily, but it was followed almost immediately by fear. _To be abandoned among the stars…I would not survive…_

_I would not abandon you. _

_Yes. You who owe me nothing, to whom I am nothing…_

_You're not nothing to me, Jenin. You've got so much potential._

_I am afraid. You would abandon me. I would not survive._

_I won't abandon you. I promise._

_Yes, you would. If you learned my secret._

There was a sense of shock, then, followed by a wave of fear at having let so much show, fear of knowing that Luke knew he had a secret. The secret was so close to the surface, so essential to the core of what Jenin was, that Luke could almost see it. But Jenin's fear screamed out loudly.

Luke had to pull out. If he stayed in the link any longer, it would be the equivalent of mind-rape.

He started to withdraw. "I'm sorry, son," he said aloud. "It's not working. I can either—"

It was the word 'son' that triggered the breach, a tear in the delicate fabric so wide that Luke couldn't help but see what was on the other side. Suddenly Luke _knew_ Jenin's secret, and it was so simple, so utterly simple, that Luke wondered at his own inability to have seen it earlier, even without the Force.

_No! _Jenin screamed into the link. Luke broke the rest of the contact immediately. The scream was so strong that it moved from the sub-vocal layer to the vocal one, and Jenin finished the scream aloud, "Noooo!"

Elaan stepped in immediately. "Shhh," she whispered, putting her hands on Jenin's shoulders and then smoothing his hair. "The worst is past. There is nothing more to fear."

Jenin's scream was now replaced by muffled sobs, but the young healer pulled away from Elaan and let his head fall on top of arms on the table. The small, fragile body shook with each sharp inhalation and noisy exhalation. Elaan was about to try again to comfort Jenin, but Luke shook his head. This was something he could handle himself. The secret was…funny, actually, so meaningless, but it meant so much to Jenin.

Luke moved to put his hands on the young healer's shoulders. Jenin stood up and moved away, but not before Luke saw the tears spilling out of Jenin's eyes. Luke followed, and grasped Jenin's shoulders gently but firmly, and bent his head to whisper in Jenin's ear. "It's all right. We all have secrets. There's nothing so awful about _that_ one."

"But…now…you know."

"So now I know. I _had_ to know eventually, if I was ever going to teach you. What's so terrible about being who you are? Believe me, I've known a lot worse secrets. I've even got a few of my own. If we're going to have a worst secret contest, I'd win hands down."

Jenin pulled away from Luke again and moved towards the door. "My…apologies, Master Wizard. I should not have wasted your time."

"It's not a waste," Luke replied. "Not if you still want to learn."

Hand on the door latch, Jenin turned back. "You would still teach me?"

Luke had to chuckle. "Unless you've got some other secret that's _really_ awful. There's nothing Dark about _that_ one."

"It does not matter to you?" Jenin's eyes were wide in wonder. "It does not matter that I am—that I am what I am?"

Luke shook his head. "It only matters that it matters to you. The real question is, do you still want to learn?"

"Yes!" Jenin exclaimed. "By the Gods, yes!"

"Then let's get on with it. Jen—I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch what your real name was?"

Jenin glanced at Elaan, who was still ignorant of the secret, and whispered, "Jenin. It is real enough to me."

"Jenin." Luke said quietly, in acknowledgement. "Shall we continue?"

Jenin returned to the table and started to drag a dirty shirtsleeve over eyes and nose. "Wait," Luke said, grabbing the arm to stop it. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the cloth his lunch had been wrapped in. It wasn't perfect, but it was considerably cleaner than the sleeve Jenin was about to use. He handed it to the young healer.

"My thanks," Jenin murmured, and wiped eyes and nose.

"Keep it," Luke said, as Jenin started to hand it back. The last thing he wanted was a snotty handkerchief. Luke waited for Jenin to stuff the cloth into a pocket before asking, "Ready?"

Jenin nodded and held out the small hands once again.

Luke took them, and drew in a cleansing breath. _Jenin?_

_Yes? Will you still teach me? _The question was desperate for reassurance.

_I will. _

_It does not matter to you,_ Jenin thought, still in awe of that fact.

_Why should it?_

_Because it matters to everyone else. _

_Not to me. _

Jenin's despair and desperation was transforming into joy, and it was something beautiful to watch. Luke let it grow until Jenin, who had grown unused to such emotion, began to replace it with doubt.

_Will you still teach me?_

_I will. But I have to go deeper._

_I am not afraid now. Teach me._

Luke tried to push through to the next layer, where sub-vocalization mixed with emotions, but he encountered a new barrier, not so insurmountable as the earlier one. _You're still blocking, Jenin. _A reflexive thought went by, and he corrected himself. _Jenine. Pretty name._

_Please! Do not even think it! If that name should slip from your tongue—_

_Surely it may be Jenine here, where outside ears can't hear._

_I dare not! I hate Jenine. Jenin is better._

_Why do you hate what you are? Who you are?_

_Because a girl cannot heal. A girl cannot be a Wizard, but only pass the gift. A girl cannot—_should_ not—travel to where she is needed, but only stay at home. A girl cannot craft as well as a boy. A girl cannot do much more than marry and make babies. _There was frustration and anger in her thoughts.

_Obviously a girl can,_ Luke thought wryly.

_You are the first to think so._

Luke saw her other secret then, but not nearly so big as the first one. _Your father is still alive. He's the one who mind-linked with you before. But he wouldn't teach you because of your gender._

_Will you abandon me, as well?_

In the link, Luke reassured her with the promise that he would teach her. _Where I come from, women have the same choices as men. There are as many women doctors—healers—as there are men. I can't tell you what face to show the people of your world, but Jenine is a very beautiful young woman. Don't hate her. Don't hate yourself._

_My father hates Jenine. If I had been born a son instead of a daughter—_

_—Then you would not have become the extraordinary young woman that you are. Let it be Jenine. At least in here._

There was a softening, then, a longing to be accepted for what she was, and what she couldn't help being._ Here, then. But not anywhere else! Not to anyone else! Not even to _her_!_

Luke knew who 'her' was, and told the young healer in the link, _Elaan would understand._

_Not even to her! _Jenin's fear at being discovered by the outside world threatened the trust that the mind-link needed.

_All right,_ Luke promised, agreeing to keep the secret even from Elaan. _It shall be Jenine only between you and me, and only here in the link._ A moment of laughter bubbled through Luke's thoughts_. How I could have missed that you were a girl is beyond me. I should have seen it back in the woods._

Jenin's answering bubble was more like a wry smile. _If one wears enough dirt and assumes the mannerisms and the name, people do not look past the surface. My scar helps. They see the scar and do not look at the face. _

Luke thought of his bonder's clothes and ring. _You mistook me, too. That's why you were afraid to come nearer. _

It was Jenin's turn to see something beyond the surface, but she didn't understand it. _What is…Je-he-di? or…Jedi?_

_At the moment…it is one who teaches,_ Luke's thoughts responded.

_Not the real meaning. Or…not the full meaning. _

Luke smiled, both in the link and physically. _Good. _He sent her the meaning, which was beyond words. _Do you know the meaning now?_

_It is…a feeling. One who feels that which I am feeling from you now. It is hard to put a word to it. Love, perhaps, but not…necessarily romantic love, or…the words are hard._

_Yes. But 'love' will do. There are many ways to express that love, Jenine. Teaching is one—_

_—And healing is another. Yes._

_I'm going to go deeper now…_

_Yes._

Luke went deeper, where the barriers that separated two individual thoughts were less defined. The resistance now was no more than it would have been for a student he'd prepared for a first mind-link, and after he pushed through, he took a moment to let both of them experience the joy/rapture/fear that a first mind-link always brought. Jenin had never been so intimate with anyone, not since she'd experienced a single link with her father, a link which had hurt her in some way, and Luke hadn't been this intimate with anyone in a long time. It made living in the outside world seem…lonely.

_Lonely, yes,_ Jenin thought. _But not here. You have accepted me._

There was a tinge of sadness from Luke. _To be accepted…_he thought.

I accept you.

_You do not know me._

_I know enough. Show me the rest. I will accept you._

_It's not pretty. Not as beautiful as who you are._

_Show me. I will accept you._

Jenin saw then, but did not understand, the images of Darth Vader and Yoda and Ben Kenobi and Brenna and Briande and Elaan and Etan Lippa and former friends and students now dead and Luke's own dark past. Luke's secrets.

_I do not understand,_ Jenin's feeling of confusion said.

Luke answered in a more cohesive thought. _Darth Vader was my father. I am the son of Darkness. I was Darkness._

Jenin didn't know the details, but she got the gist of it. _I understand. But he turned back to the light. Your light guided him. As your light now guides me._

Luke's emotions evolved to a sense of guilt about Brenna, and a profound sorrow at the imminent separation from Briande/Elaan that would soon come to pass.

_I grieve for you_, Jenin thought into the link. _I grieve _with_ you. Please do not be sad…_

_It's not all sad, _Luke replied. He showed her the joys of his life, the times he would not trade for anything, even to be rid of the sorrows. He showed her the happy times, when he and Briande and Brenna were a family. He showed her the funny times, the ones that made him smile even now, years later. He showed her the previous mind-links he had shared, with Briande, with Brenna as a young child, and with his other students. He showed her the joy he felt now, sharing all this with _her_, in the mind-link.

You are beautiful, Master Wizard. Luke.

_As are you, Jenine. Normally, this is all we would do in a first mind-link, learn to accept each other and see each other's beauty, but I have to leave tomorrow. Shall I show you the healing now?_

_Yes! Please!_

He transferred her hands to his left arm, placing them on either side of the cut. _Find my pulse. Can you feel it? _

In the link, Luke showed her how to find his body rhythm, sensing it rather than physically feeling for it.

_Yes… _Jenin said into the link, finally understanding. _Yes! I feel it!_

Okay, good. Match your body rhythm to mine, and send a little energy through with each pulse. Then collect it again. Try it.

Jenin concentrated. Luke listened internally to the two pulses, careful to keep his own energy passive, and felt the energy being sent through his arm. _Even less. Just the tiniest bit. Here, give me your arm. Just listen for a minute. Feel what I'm doing._

Jenin nodded, then was still. She sought Luke's pulse and found it. His pulse was speeding up to match hers, made quicker by her excitement at learning.

_I haven't sent any energy through yet,_ Luke told her through the link. _But I want you to tell me when I do._

Jenin nodded, and her heartbeat momentarily fluctuated. She forced herself to relax. Luke moved to a more surface level in the link, lest she feel the pulse as an echo from him rather than from her own senses. Then he found her rhythm again, and it was a moment or two before she said tentatively, _I think…maybe just then. I am not certain. I just barely felt it._

Luke smiled. _'Just barely' is what you want. 'Just barely' is what I should feel when you do it. Think of it as replacing the nucleus of a single blood cell with energy, and sending it to the affected spot with each pulse._

_'Nucleus'? 'Cell'?_

Immediately she got a visual image of a blood cell, a bulging saucer-shape of red. Another word came to mind, _platelet_, but it was disconnected from anything she understood. Then, realizing that Jenin had never even seen a microscope, Luke tried to project some concept of size, thousands of saucer-shaped platelets in a drop of blood, each one smaller than the head of a pin. Jenin's awe at the concept led him to show her a mental image of a primitive microscope, and Luke inadvertently connected the word _antique_ to the image. It used a mirror and sun as the light source, had a hole in the bottom, a glass slide that allowed light to pass, lenses to magnify the image on the slide on either end of the tube, moving the tube up and down, moving one of the lenses up and down, to focus. The phrases _electron microscope_ and _neutron microscope_ flashed by, along with an apology of _Sorry!_ and the knowledge that it was something that was above her level of comprehension.

Then realization dawned on Jenin, and she said into the link, _My craftings are as child's play among your stars! _

_No,_ Luke assured her. _Your science just hasn't caught up with ours yet._

_You could give me the science!_

_I'm giving you a little bit now. As for the rest, your world is better off catching up in its own time. _Luke tried to show her the plunder of the natural resources that would take place if any of the non-Republic worlds discovered her world, and why the New Republic specifically protected underdeveloped worlds by forbidding contact. _In fact,_ Luke told her, _I could get into serious trouble if anyone finds out I've given you this knowledge. So if anyone asks, you invented it yourself. A microscope is within the possibility of your technology, and the knowledge you gain from it will help the science of healing enormously._

_ I do not fully understand its workings…_

_I can…try to give you the image of the microscope, imprint a picture into your mind. You're good at drawing. Later, you can try to copy the image. _

_Yes! _

Luke took her head between his hands and ran the fingers of one hand over her scalp until he came the spot closest to the visual memory receptors. It took time to give her the image, and review the individual parts so that she could recreate it later, but Luke felt it was worth the effort. When he was satisfied that she understood, he took a moment to rest. Imprinting took a lot of concentration, just as much as healing.

_Try to come up with some names other than cell, nucleus, microscope, and so on, will you?_ he asked her. _No point in making it extremely obvious that someone showed you what these are._

_What about…particle-viewer, blood particle, and particle core?_

_Sounds good to me. _

_May I try the healing again? _Jenin begged, impatient to continue.

Yes.

Jenin concentrated again. This time, she found Luke's pulse and let herself settle into the rhythm for a few moments before trying to send just the smallest bit of energy through. But it took enormous concentration, and she had to wait the space of a few beats before she could send another pulse through.

_Much better!_ Luke told her. _Now, don't forget to collect it on the other side."_

_I could not continue it…_

_That's okay. It will come with practice. The control and the endurance are what you lack, Jenine, not power. Use very small amounts of energy. Too much, and you'll exhaust yourself before you accomplish anything. _

_Yes. I understand now. _Jenin's thoughts were replaced with a bubble of laughter, at the sheer joy of learning the secret that had eluded her for so long. Then as the bubble floated away, she realized that the mind-link, with all its false starts and barriers and the imprinting, had worn Luke out. _Master Wizard, you are tired!_

_Yes. But there is one thing more I would like to do before we stop. Jenine, I'd like to pull up the memory of your first link. May I?_

_To what purpose?_

_I would like to see something. It would be…a favor to me._

_Yes, _Jenin said. _I would do anything to repay you for what you have given me!_

Luke found the faint trail of the memory, then teased it free of the associations Jenin had given it, enhanced it, and replayed it dispassionately, analytically, viewing as an outsider viewing a tridee.

_Yes…_ he said in the link, and smiled. _Jenine, did you see it?_

_This much I knew, _Jenin told him, puzzled.

_Yes, but look at it again. Try to see it from _his_ point of view. Become your father, Jenine._

Luke replayed the memory again, devoid of Jenin's own emotions, and showed her how to see the other side. She saw a small part of it, then, and her surprise was so profound that Luke had to replay it one more time before she understood.

_He didn't hate me_, Jenin thought in wonder.

_No._

_But it saddened him that I was a girl._

_Yes. Only because he knew you had the gift, Jenine. Only because you wanted to follow his steps. Only because of the danger of being Wizard-born. Only because that is the way things are on your world. It is the only world your father knows._

_I can change the world._

_Yes, but not alone. Be careful, Jenine. I didn't show you how to use your gift for you to end up being burned as a witch. Your father didn't want you to suffer your mother's fate. Nor do I. Don't take chances. Use what I've taught you with discretion._

_I will. Master Wizard?_

_Yes?_

_How…did you know about my father? And…how is showing me this a favor to you?_

Luke smiled into the link, knowing that Jenin had sensed at least part of the answer already. _Because I made the same mistake with my own daughter. Helping you was a little like…making up for that. Forgive him, Jenine. Even the Jedi make mistakes._

_Thank you._

_I have to stop now, Jenine. _

_I know._

_I'm going to go higher now._

_Yes. _

There was sadness from her in the link as Luke moved to a more surface level. He could sense her loneliness at losing some of the intimacy between them and thought wryly about the irony of it. The intimacy and acceptance were what mind-linking was all about, and he had taught Jenin that, but unlike his other students, he couldn't console her with the knowledge that there would be another link between them later.

_I'm sorry. _Luke thought.

_No! You have given me so much! This feeling will pass. But the rest! The rest will stay with me for all of my days!_

Luke smiled sadly._ You're consoling _me_ now. I will miss you, Jenine._

_And I you, Master Wizard._

_Luke._

_You will always be the Master Wizard to me. _

_Even after this?_

_Especially after this. I love you, Master Wizard._

_I love you, too, Jenine. I have to go higher now._

_I know._

As Luke pulled out of the link, he realized that he still had Jenin's head in his hands, from when he had imprinted the image of the microscope on her. Her eyes had spilled over with tears, and he used his thumbs to wipe them away. "I'm sorry, Jenine," he whispered. "I didn't mean to do that to you."

"It is 'Jenin' once again, Master Wizard," the young healer replied, also in a whisper. "And these are tears of joy more than any other." She took his hands from her face and kissed them both in turn, on the palms. "Thank you," she said.

Luke pulled one hand free to stroke her hair. "You're welcome."

Then Jenin came out of her chair and practically threw herself onto Luke in a hug. Seeing it coming, Luke managed to rise partway before it hit. He had to pick her up in order to turn and deflect some of the force, and she laughed. He laughed, too, and swung her around in a half circle before setting her back on her feet, neither one of them aware of Elaan's raised eyebrows as she regarded them.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!" Jenin shouted.

"You're welcome, welcome, welcome," Luke replied, grinning.

Despite Luke's grin, Elaan saw the exhaustion that was written on his face, and thought it time to intervene. "You two were thick as the thieves you are for the longest while. And I assume, Jenin, that you learned what you wished?"

"Oh, yes!" Jenin replied. "And more!"

"Well, then I suggest you leave the 'Master Wizard' to his rest. And if you ever find yourself in the Norwood territory near the village of Trent along the Elgood road, seek the home of Timmon and Elaan, and you will find yourself a welcome."

"Would you harbor a Wizard-born, then, milady?"

"Elaan," said Luke, smiling, "why don't you show the kid?"

Elaan raised her eyebrows at him, then smiled at Jenin, and dropped her shield. Sensing her presence back at the encampment, Aren immediately dropped his, thus adding two more entities which Jenin could sense along with Luke's and Rupert's. Elaan contacted Aren briefly to reassure him.

Joy lit Jenin's features at the two additional presences. "_Four_! Four in one place!"

"Five, counting yourself," Elaan corrected.

"Six, if you count Brenna," Luke countered back.

"And seven, counting the Sniffer," Elaan reminded him.

"I have never seen such a gathering of wizards!" Jenin exclaimed. "Oh, sir, they shall not wipe us out, ever, if seven can gather at once!"

"Yeah, well, be careful out there, Jenin. Just remember that one of the seven was a Sniffer who was planning to reduce the other six down to zero, and three are off-worlders. Don't take any unnecessary chances."

"Assuredly I will not. But…_seven_!" She looked at Elaan. "How do you do it? How do you hide?"

Elaan smiled. "Your gift is healing. Mine is concealment. Luke's…is teaching. We each have our own strengths."

"Yes," Jenin agreed. She turned to Luke. "I shall never forget this day, Master Wizard. If there is any way in which I can repay you for what you have given me, please tell me."

Luke smiled and stretched his hand out to lay his palm against her cheek. She closed her eyes and leaned against it slightly, savoring the last contact between them, albeit a physical one. "There _is_ a way to repay me," Luke told her. "Forgive him, Jenin. We all make mistakes."

Jenin opened her eyes. "Do you think…he would forgive _me_, for loving the craft more than him?"

Luke thought for a second. "I don't think 'forgive' is the right word. You haven't done anything that needs forgiveness. 'Understand' might be better. I think—I _hope_—the answer is 'yes.' But it won't be easy for him. It will take time. Be patient with him. We old men tend to get stuck in our ways."

Jenin smiled. "Sluggish, perhaps, but not 'stuck.' Master Wizard, if you ever have need of me—"

"I'll be able to find you."

"I hope someday we may meet again."

"Me, too. Goodbye, Jenin. Take care."

"Goodbye."

Jenin opened the door and descended the stairs. Partway down, she stopped, and turned around. Luke smiled and gave her a wave. She hesitated, returned the wave vigorously, then descended the rest of the way, out of sight.

When Luke and Elaan were once again alone inside the room and the door was closed, Elaan said, "You enjoyed that."

"What?" Luke asked.

"Teaching the boy."

Luke shrugged. "A fresh, young mind, eager to learn. Is there any reason why I shouldn't?"

"None at all," Elaan said. "I merely point out that your pleasure in the task matches your talent for it. The boy was transformed. His fear became joy. It would be a shame to let such talent of fall into disuse."

"Yeah, well, I'll have a new grandchild before long. Maybe I'll get the chance to teach again after all."

"Good," Elaan said. Then her smile became sad.

"What is it?" Luke asked, putting his hands on her shoulders.

"This is our last night together."

"Unless you change your mind about coming with me after we rescue Timmon."

"No… I cannot leave him. Or Aren."

Luke's hands moved from her shoulders to take her face. "Then let's make the most of the time we have left, shall we?"

"Yes…" she whispered, and met Luke's kiss with her own.


	21. Chapter 21

**The Face in the Shadows**

**Chapter 21**

The morning dawned, as it inevitably had to, and Elaan joined Brenna and the others at the encampment while Luke . Rupert was already at the _Falcon_, ready to fly in with guns if the auction plan didn't work. The nighttime cloud-seeding Rupert had managed when transporting the Sniffer had only partially worked. The day was cloudy, which would help keep the _Falcon_ hidden, if need be, but by Luke's estimation, it was only a fifty-fifty shot whether they'd actually see rain. Brenna had asked for two communications sets linked to the _Falcon_ and to each other, one of which she disassembled and sewed into the lining of Luke's hood, and the other she kept for herself. Each woman had a blaster strapped high on her leg under her skirt. Luke had his lightsaber under his cloak, and, of course, the com-link. A quick check to make sure the com-links were working, and they were ready.

Luke hoped it wouldn't come to needing the _Falcon._ It would be a very risky venture, not only for Timmon, but for the many innocents who were there only for the fair, like Jenin. And he _really_ didn't want any new religions started by accident. Not to mention the New Republic penalties for interference in under-developed cultures was severe, and it was a sure bet that Luke, Rupert, and Brenna would see a great deal of jail time if they ever got caught. It was unlikely, but still a possibility that Luke had to consider.

The auction podium was large enough to hold a number of guards, a table, some sort of metal structure, a podium, a bucket, and a brazier.

Timmon was brought out in chains and under a heavy guard. In the daylight, he looked even more drawn than he had in the dark cell, but he was standing on his own, even if he did stumble on his way to the podium. His binders were chained to the metal structure, and the auctioneer took his place at the podium.

Timmon's eyes scanned the crowd until he found Elaan and Aren and locked onto them. Luke had already coached Elaan and Aren not to say anything aloud, not to call Timmon's name or show any sign of recognition, but the longing with which Timmon looked at them and the return gaze they gave him was dangerous. Luke spoke quietly into his com-link, and watched Brenna move her hand to her ear, then steer Elaan to face away from Timmon. Elaan seemed to protest a moment until Brenna whispered something in her ear, and then Elaan nodded. Elaan bent down and whispered into Aren's ear, but the boy would not be turned away from looking at his father. Seeing the exchange, Timmon frowned. Then he seemed to recognize the danger of recognition, why Elaan was turning away, and he did the same.

Luke nodded to himself. Timmon was a little slower than his normal self, but he was still able to think. Aren took a step or two towards his father, but Elaan caught him and pulled him back. Luke realized that Aren would be of little use if push came to shove and they had to fight to free Timmon. He relayed that to Brenna and advised her that the first order of business if they had to go to plan B would be to get Aren out of the way, which wouldn't be an easy thing to do. Brenna replied that Elaan would probably be the one best suited for that task, and promised to relay that to her.

The bidding began, and fairly quickly it narrowed down to Luke, Red Boots, and one other bonder who hadn't wandered the fair at all as the only three who had enough money to continue. Every time Luke made his bid, one or the other would increase it.

As the bidding continued to rise, Luke was nearing the limit of his monetary resources. "Get ready," Luke murmured into his com-link. "Looks like we'll have to go to Plan B. Rupert, start warming up."

Rupert voiced acknowledgement, and Luke could see Brenna give a nod and start hiking up her skirt to make easy access to her blaster. The other women followed her example, to be ready when the fighting started.

Luke made one last-ditch attempt at Plan A, and raised his voice to bid to the copper everything he had: "Ten thousand, three hundred, and eighty-seven!"

Red Boots immediately raised the offer to an even three thousand, and the auctioneer looked to the other bonder to see if there was a higher bid.

"Plan B it is," Luke murmured. "Rupert, let me know when you're airborne."

"One more minute," Rupert promised.

Suddenly Luke felt something being pressed into his hand, and was surprised to see Jenin walking away with only a quick backward glance.

As the other bonder hesitantly outbid Red Boots, and Red Boots countered with another bid, Luke concentrated to form a surface-level mind-link, and was rewarded by Jenin's ready answer. _Jenin, what's this?_

Jenin continued to move away, and was swallowed up by the crowd. _A small gift to repay you for the larger gift you gave me._

Luke didn't have time to ask farther, because it looked like Red Boots was about to win the auction.

"She's up and ready," Rupert said in the com-link.

"Stand by," Luke told him quietly. Then he lifted his head and raised his voice. "Ten thousand, three hundred, and eighty-seven," he said, repeating his earlier bid, which was now lower than the current bid, and before the amused laughter could build, he held up Jenin's coin, and added, "Plus _this_."

There was a collective gasp from the audience, and Luke took advantage of the moment of stunned surprise to contact Jenin again. _What is it?_

_A dastra. It is worth a lot of money. It was to be my dowry, but I do not wish to marry, so it is useless to me. More useful to you. _

_Oh, Jenin… _Outwardly, Luke kept his face impassive. He broke the link again and became aware that all eyes were now on him, wondering at the extraordinary amount of money being offered for Timmon.

The auctioneer had sent a soldier who was now making his way toward Luke. The crowd parted to let him through. "Let me see," the soldier said. He examined the coin carefully, even nicking the edge of it with his knife. He shook his head slightly in wonder, then held up the gleaming coin and pronounced loudly, "It is genuine!" Then he returned the coin to Luke, but did not return to the podium himself, standing near Luke, but not blocking his view of the podium.

Luke sensed the amazement and curiosity of the crowd. Why anyone would want to pay so much for a bondsman for the "privilege" of torturing and perhaps killing him, even for the "status of the thing, seemed unreal. Even Timmon was looking at Luke with a frankly uncomprehending gaze.

Luke would have to give them an explanation that would satisfy them. He lifted his arm and pointed to Timmon, then addressed the crowd. "This man took something from me! A woman! My favorite! I will have him, whatever the cost! And he will know what it means to take from me!"

Luke was fairly satisfied with his little speech. The vague threat sounded sinister enough, and even Timmon was looking a bit worried. And every word was absolutely true…from a certain point of view, anyway.

The auctioneer looked from Red Boots to the other bondsman, more as a formality than anything else, and they both shook their heads. The auctioneer declared Luke to be the winning bidder, and told him to pay the soldier

Luke did so, but then the soldier held out his hand again. "Your ring," he said.

Luke took off the ring and gave it to him, and the soldier returned to the auction platform.

"Power down?" Rupert asked in his ear.

"Yes," Luke replied quietly.

At the platform, wax was dripped onto a parchment document, the ring was pressed onto the wax, but then, rather than returning the ring to Luke, another soldier took it, attached it to a tool like tongs, and placed it in the brazier. Luke frowned. He hadn't known Timmon was to be branded in public. And from the quick sense of alarm he felt from Elaan, neither had she.

Luke spoke to Brenna in his comlink, and made his way to the platform. That brazier looked hot, much hotter than the ones in the bonder's stalls.

The ring was glowing red-hot by the time Luke was able to reach the platform. Sever soldiers were already holding Timmons arms, another was holding his head immobile, and another two had grabbed his legs. The soldier in charge of the tongs and ring seemed surprised when Luke mounted the platform and held out his hands for the tongs. "Have I not paid enough for the privilege?" he asked.

The soldier looked to the auctioneer, who shrugged, then stepped away from the tongs.

Luke pulled them out of the brazier as quickly as he dared, and went to where Timmon was being held. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Brenna trying to herd Elaan and Aren away. Luke let the tongs dangle loosely from his fingers, taking his time, as if to taunt Timmon, but in actuality trying to cool the ring. He tried to help things along with a little Force-energy, tried to slow the movement of the excited molecules. He waved the ring in front of Timmon's face, again as if to taunt, but in actuality continuing to cool the ring, until he had done as much as he dared without arousing suspicion. Then he knelt next to Timmon, managing a barely audible "Sorry," as his lips passed near Timmon's ears, and pressed the hot ring onto Timmon's forehead.

Timmon's scream caused Elaan and Aren to whirl around. Fortunately, Brenna had gotten them far enough away from the podium not to cause suspicion from the soldiers.

Timmon sagged, still bound by a chain to the metal stand on the podium. His scream had died to a whimper, and he was openly sobbing. Luke hid his pained expression by looking down to drop tongs and ring into the bucket of water. There was a quick _hissss_, and by the time he looked back up, he was once again wearing his "bonder" expression. "I will take him now," he said.

One of the soldiers nodded and unlocked the chain from the rail and handed it to Luke. "We will provide you an escort where you wish to go, to ensure that he does not escape."

"He will not. But you can come along if you want. Oh, and I'll take the key to those binders, too," Luke said.

"As you wish, milord." The soldier handed Luke the key, and Luke gave the chain a jerk that rattled it and looked and sounded harder than it actually was.

"Come on," Luke told Timmon. "You belong to me, now."

Timmon stumbled descending the podium, and Luke gave the chain a jerk that chafed Timmon's wrist, but also kept him from falling. The crowd parted before them, and Luke occasionally gave the chain another jerk, for effect. Luke looked back and saw some of the soldiers bringing up the rear. When they reached Luke's lodgings, Luke held up his hand. "This is as far as you go. If you want, you can stay out here to make sure he does not escape, but I want him to myself. And if one of you will go to the gypsy camp over there—" he pointed "—and fetch me the woman, I would be glad of the company."

Once they were inside the building and the door was closed, Luke let out a long breath. "I'll unlock you when we get to the room, he told Timmon quietly. He held Timmon's elobw to help him up the stairs. "Let's get you cleaned up a bit before Elaan gets here, shall we?"

Timmon's eyes were still brimming as he looked up at Luke and said, "I wear your mark."

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that, but I didn't see an alternative. I've got a first-aid kit in my room. That should help with the pain. We'll take care of the rest later."

Timmon inhaled a shaky breath. "I am marred, now. I will not be able to return home."

"Not to worry," Luke assured him. "There won't be a scar. But I just can't do much more until we get back to Rupert's ship." He got Timmon into the room, unlocked the binders, gave Timmon another dose of antibiotics and painkillers, and had Timmon remove his filthy rags. Luke set those aside – he had another use for them later – gave Timmon some wipes to clean himself off as best he could, and helped him into a clean set of clothes. Luke shook his head sadly at the sight of all the bruises and welts on the other man's body, but was grateful that at least there were no broken bones to deal with. It made travel that much less difficult.

There was a knock at the door, and Luke motioned Timmon to stay out of sight while he partially opened the door to see Elaan and the soldier he had sent. Luke thanked the soldier, told him to wait outside with the others, and for the soldier's benefit, kissed Elaan roughly and drew her into the room. He peeked to make sure the soldier was actually leaving, sighed, and turned to see Elaan already standing before Timmon, his face in her hands, kissing him with gentle tenderness. Luke closed the door and went over to them.

Elaan caressed Timmon's cheek briefly, then turned to Luke. "Thank you," she breathed. Her eyes were liquid gratitude.

Luke nodded. "We're not out of the woods yet, though."

"Aren wanted to come. It was difficult to hold him back."

"Tell Aren that unless he wants to get branded, too, he'd better keep his distance. He'll get his reunion, I promise, but not here. Not now."

"Brenna told him as much already, but I will repeat it to him again." She turned back to her husband, and her expression melted as she took in the brand on his forehead. Then she reached into her pocket and withdrew a small jar of salve. "The herb-crafter Jenin gave me this and said it would help."

Luke smiled a little. "I'll let _you_ take care of that," he said. He took a chair from the table, dragged it to the far corner of the room, and left the pair in as much privacy as he could while Elaan tended to Timmon's hurts.

Rupert arrived at the bonder's fair at first light the next morning, which was still overcast and threatening to rain, and Luke promised to help him take care of unfinished business before they set off for the _Falcon_. In fact, Luke left Timmon sleeping in the room with strict orders to stay put, and with Rupert's new pet mortu guarding the door in case the soldiers or anyone else became too curious.

After the unfinished business was finished, Luke and Rupert headed back to the gypsy camp.

"I'm hungry," Rupert complained. "Anybody else hungry?"

"Rue," said Brenna softly, taking his arm to lead him aside, "I wouldn't mention food right now, if I were you."

"Why not?" Rupert asked, refusing to be led away.

Brenna tried to be patient. "_Because_," she explained, "we have a long walk ahead of us, no food, no money, and it's rude to remind people of what they can't have."

Rupert waved a hand. "Nonsense. The Force will provide."

"You can hunt when we're on the road," Brenna said. "But in the meantime —"

"I'm _hungry_," Rupert insisted. "I want some food, and I want it _now_."

Brenna turned to her father for assistance. "Dad—?"

Luke shrugged. "The Force will provide."

"I want breakfast," Rupert said.

Brenna glared at Rupert. "Well, unless the Force can provide you with some meal rations _right now_, I suggest you shut up."

"Hmmm," Rupert said. "I don't have any ration bars, but how about some of those grain cakes they're selling over there?" He produced a coin and gave it to Brenna.

She looked at it, then at Rupert. "You were holding out? My Dad might have needed this at the auction."

"Me? Hold out? No way! I only acquired that this morning."

A slow smile formed on Brenna's face as she realized just _how_ Rupert had acquired it. "From who?"

Rupert glanced off to his left, and Brenna followed his eyes to where Red Boots was talking animatedly to one of the city guards. She averted her gaze and grinned. "I thought he was untouchable."

"He was, until this morning," Rupert said. "He got a little careless. Courtesy of a little telepathic suggestion from your father and a problem rodent population."

Luke grinned. "He was much more susceptible this morning than before the auction. Rupert did the rest."

"So like I was asking," Rupert said, after pulling his tongue out of his cheek and holding out the coin, "are you hungry?"

"Starving," Brenna replied, taking the coin.

"Bring back one for me," Rupert told her.

Not long after breakfast, the soldiers around Luke's lodging saw the bonder and his son leave on ride-beasts, with the bonder leading his unmounted, bound bondsman captive by a length of chain attached to a loop on the bonder's saddle. And if the bondsman's son kept his hood pulled up, it was only to shield from the occasional raindrop that fell from the overcast sky. And if the bonded prisoner's head was bowed and his shoulders were hunched, that was only to be expected. And if the occasional glimpse of a simulated bond-blister and the stench of the clothes was enough to keep most people from seeking a better view, well, that was fine by all involved. And if anyone _did_ take an interest in the party, a little make-up that either hid or simulated a blister, and a little Force-suggestion to switch features was usually enough to satisfy curiosity. And if, occasionally, another bonder would congratulate Luke for winning the auction and noted the "son's" silence, Luke would laugh, clap his son on the back, and confess that the "boy" had fallen for the charms of one of the gypsy women and had gotten little sleep that night, and the "young man" would simply pull his hood lower and remain silent.

And if, every once in a while, the prisoner started to walk more upright, a quick jerk by the bonder on the chain would send the bondsman stumbling and elicit a half-smile from the bonder.

Not long after the bonder and his son and prisoner left the fair, the gypsy encampment, the herb-crafter's encampment, and many of the others were packed and mobilized. With the auction over, most of the fair-goers were leaving, and no one thought twice about the band of gypsies that took to the same road as the bonder and his son.

The rain continued to threaten, but did not come except drip by drip. And after a while, when Luke noticed the sagging shoulders of the "son" riding beside him and there was no one else in sight on the road, Luke stopped for a short break. "How are you holding up?" he asked the rider beside him.

Timmon lifted his eyes, revealing his face. "I shall manage," he answered.

"Need another painkiller?"

"As I said, I can manage, and I do not wish to fall asleep in the saddle."

Luke clapped him gently on the back. "Good man. The sooner we get to the ship, the sooner we can take care of you properly."

Rupert gathered up the chain linking him to Luke as he approached, and straightened his aching back. Then he awkwardly tried to scratch his head. "This wig is making my head itch," he complained. "And I think _you_ should take a turn wearing the stinky clothes."

"Seniority has its privileges," Luke said, smiling.

"But I'm getting _tired_," Rupert said in an exaggerated whine.

"Exercise is good for you," Luke said, and clicked his beast to get going again. Even Timmon had to give a tired little smile at the ease with which the two men bantered.

Since Rupert was on foot and their progress was necessarily slowed whenever anyone else was in sight, it didn't take long for the others to catch up once they had reached the _Falcon._ By then, the sky overhead opened up, and finally let loose the rain Luke had been hoping for earlier. Rupert was still in the shower, having trashed his filthy clothes, when Aren came running up to his father with a cry and threw his arms around him. Timmon grimaced at the contact, but then enveloped the boy in a tight hug.

Elaan joined the duet, making it a trio. Then it became a foursome, fivesome, and sixsome as Kayleen, Ranaad, and Sandin joined the hug, all standing in the downpour until Brenna ushered them up the gangplank.

The mortu was already inside. It found its way to Rupert's open cabin door, then whined and scratched at the shower door.

Luke was looking up at the sky from the _Falcon_'s cockpit when Brenna found him. "I think we can risk a daytime trip," he said. "Plenty of cloud cover, and the sound of the rain will mask most of the noise." He looked at his daughter. "Think you can pilot the mini-shuttle through this back to Elaan's farm?"

Brenna was surprised that her father was entrusting the shuttle to her. "Sure," she said. "But why not to the _Falcon's_ hold?"

Luke shrugged. "I thought we might leave it here for Elaan and Aren in case of emergency. After all, the escape pod came in handy, didn't it? And the shuttle is in much better shape."

"I'll set it on autopilot for Croyus Four, then. I mean, if that's okay. I never did get your answer on whether or not you want to run the place."

"Uh, about that…" Luke swiveled in his seat to face her. "Sorry, Sweetheart, but my answer is 'no.' I don't really want to run the place. I'll leave that to you. But if you want my help with anything, I have no other pressing engagements. I'm happy to go to Croyus Four to help out, but I don't want to be the one in charge."

"You'll come with me?"

"Only if you want me to. I mean, it sounds like you might need a babysitter."

A slow smile developed on Brenna's face, and her hand moved to her stomach. "Yes," she said. "I could use a babysitter. Thank you."

"You're welcome." He indicated the main cabin behind them. "I think I'd like to drop the nieces and Sandin first, then use the _Falcon's_ blasters to bury the shuttle someplace convenient.

Brenna nodded. "We'll have to show them how to use the auto-pilot."

"Right. And since you've become so handy with the medical equipment, if you wouldn't mind patching Timmon up while I show Elaan and Aren how to work the shuttle, that would be great."

Brenna was dropped off at the shuttle. Ranaad, Kayleen, and Sandin were dropped off at Timmon's brother's farm (which elicited much amazement from Timmon's brother and his brother's wife, but Luke didn't want to stay to satisfy their curiosity), a hole was blasted in the ground, the shuttle was skillfully piloted to the spot Luke picked out, and Luke showed Elaan and Aren how to engage the autopilot while Brenna worked on Timmon.

Luke finished first, and went back inside the _Falcon_ to watch his daughter prepare a bacta patch for Timmon's forehead. After she put the patch in the bacta solution to soak, she handed Timmon a small container of pills. "One a day for the next three days. After I put the patch on, don't touch the patch. You can take it off tomorrow night, but not before. Your forehead may be red for another day after that, but you shouldn't see any marks where the blister was."

"Can I have a minute?" Luke asked.

"Sure."

He flicked his head toward the door, and she understood that he wanted to be alone with Timmon.

When she was gone, Luke studied her handiwork. The blistering was gone. The skin was red, but it looked more like an allergic reaction than bonder's mark. And in a few days, even that would be gone.

"You'll have to finish burying the shuttle yourself," Luke told Timmon. "Keep the earth loose. Maybe use that area as a manure pile or a garden.

Timmon nodded.

Then Luke took off his bonder's ring and offered it to Timmon. "Do you have any use for that?"

"No," Timmon said. "I would never be able to pass as a bonder, nor know any who would. It is more like to be dangerous if discovered."

Luke nodded and put it into his pocket.

"Is the design significant?"

"Sort of," Luke replied. "It says 'Jedi.' Nothing really important."

Timmon gave a little laugh. "I have never before worn the mark of another man. I would know what 'Jedi' means."

Luke shrugged, and searched for words that Timmon would undertand. "The Jedi are – _were_, I mean – a community of wizard-born do-gooders. I was a member, once. Elaan was, too, in her before-time."

"If all this is required is to be wizard-born and 'do good,' then you are both assuredly still members."

"There's a bit more to it than that, but you're right. Maybe the Jedi haven't quite died out yet." Luke drew in a deep breath. "Timmon, you owe me a life-debt."

"One I fear the cost of repaying," Timmon admitted. "And…there are some prices I am not willing to pay."

"Well, let's see, shall we? She chose _you_, Timmon. But if she ever…changes her mind, if she ever chooses _me_…Or if she's ever unhappy here…Or if she ever _needs_ me…you send her to me. Or send your son to fetch me."

Timmon smiled. "That, I can manage." He held out his hand to seal the agreement. "I hope I never have to repay this life-debt."

Luke shook the hand, "Make sure your son knows that, too."

"I will."

"And have a talk with him, will you? I think he'd like to murder me for giving you that 'bonder's blister.'"

"It was necessary," Timmon said. "I will make sure he understands that."

"Good. Take care of yourself, Timmon. This 'Way' of yours is pretty dangerous, as you know by now."

"I will," Timmon said. His mouth quirked. After all, I am worth at _least_ a dastra."

"Probably the only honestly come by coin I paid for you," Luke replied, returning the smile.

Luke passed by Brenna with a flick of his head to indicate that he was done and she should finish tending to Timmon, passed by the mortu, now contentedly sleeping on a large pillow Rupert had tossed on the floor for her, probably the softest bed she'd ever had, and went down the gangplank.

Aren met him at the bottom.

"I owe you another life-debt," Aren said.

"You do," Luke agreed. "So does your father. He will tell you how it may be settled."

Aren nodded once in acknowledgement, then sensed his mother behind him and turned to look at her. She indicated with a movement of her eyes that she wanted him to withdraw, and he did.

Luke and Elaan were alone at the bottom of the gangplank.

"How _may_ such a debt be paid?" Elaan asked softly.

"The debt's not yours," Luke replied. "It belongs to Timmon and Aren."

"But I was the one who asked your help," she pointed out.

"You gave me my daughter back...by giving her back some of what I took away. That settles any debt you owe me."

"Brenna has not finished her journey." Elaan said. "She has not yet...found herself. There is still a distance for her to travel."

"Yes, but you've given her hope that the path itself might not be so bad after all. There is no debt between us."

Elaan nodded, accepting his decision, then looked up at him with eyes that were dark, and deep, and soft, and more than a little moist. "I will never see you again, will I?"

"If you truly want to, you may."

Elaan smiled, a little sadly. "I am glad that you came—not only for Timmon's sake, and not only to show me the daughter I didn't know I had. I am glad...that your face is no longer in the shadows. But I will miss you."

Luke gazed for a long moment into her eyes. Then he took her face in his hands and kissed her. For a moment, she returned the kiss, with all the passion that Luke himself felt. But then she saw or sensed something behind Luke, and her passion was tempered.

Luke felt the change in her, ended the kiss, and glanced back to see Timmon standing at the top of the gangplank. Brenna had finished applying the bacta patch. "Goodbye, Elaan," Luke said quietly, then turned and headed up the gangplank, past Timmon.

He left so swiftly that Elaan wasn't sure if he heard her whispered "Goodbye, Luke," before the bay doors closed. But he did.

He watched through a window from inside the _Falcon_ as Elaan hesitated at the bottom of the gangplank, momentarily torn between two worlds. Then Timmon descended, and Aren walked up to her. She turned slightly to look at them, and each took one of her hands, and she allowed herself to be pulled away from the ship. Luke felt a spark of hope inside him die away.

But then he felt a gentle pressure on his own arm, and turned to see Brenna touching him. "Rupert needs you in the cockpit," she said.

Luke nodded, knowing it was a lie, but needing the lie anyway. He drew a deep breath and headed for the shuttle's brain. Rupert was busy throwing switches and bringing the ship to life as he slid into the co-pilot seat and strapped himself in. "Brenna said you needed me."

Rupert glanced at him. "Uh, yeah." He passed his hand over a button, and a series of numbers vanished from a read-out on the control panel. "See if you can pull up the coordinates for Medea out of the nav-system, will you?"

Luke nodded, knowing that he would simply be re-entering the same numbers that Rupert had just blanked out, but grateful for something to do anyway. After a moment, he felt the freighter lift up on thrusters, and looked out to see Elaan and her small family watching the ship rise. Then Rupert turned the shuttle, and it shot out of the atmosphere.

Luke finished pulling the coordinates up just as Brenna came into the cockpit and slid into the navigator's seat behind him. Luke undid his seat strap. The worst part was over now—the goodbyes, not the bumpy ride through the atmosphere – and he was ready to rest now. "If you need me," he told Rupert, "I'll be in the main cabin."

He stood up and started working his way to the back of the cockpit, but Brenna said, "Wait—"

Luke looked at her. She seemed to be absorbed in something and was frowning. Then she picked up Luke's hand from the arm of her chair and placed it on her stomach.

A second later, Luke felt it. A tiny, almost imperceptible kick. Life.

Luke became enraptured with the wonder of it. He looked at Brenna and saw her eyes shining back up at him, and a genuine smile on her face.

New life.

Something inside Luke had died, but _here_ was fresh, new life to take its place.

The baby kicked again.

Luke felt his own smile growing. His grandson was impatient to come out—a typical Skywalker. But Yoda had promised a new race, a new line, so maybe it wasn't impatience after all.

Maybe the baby was just saying hello.

"Hello to _you_," Luke replied softly.


End file.
